The Tome of Eldritch Omake
by DezoPenguin
Summary: A collection of short humor fics featuring the cast of GrimGrimoire.
1. Making it Rain

_A/N: I suppose it had to happen eventually. I write gag shorts and omake for _Phantasy Star, _for _Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, _for _My-HiME, _and for _Kannazuki no Miko_, so it was only a matter of time before _GrimGrimoire_ joined the parade. I dedicate this collection, though, to the fine folks at AnimeSuki's "Exiled to the Couch" group: deathcurse, Fuyu no Sora, yuiseppe, spawnofthejudge, Moczo, and Laith. I wouldn't have done it without you! (In other words, blame _them_! ^_- )_

_The Mai Universe "Carnival for MUses" project presents monthly fic/artwork challenges for _My-HiME_ stuff. The prompts for March-April 2011 were "rain" and "hangover." I participated in that and wrote a fairly serious and angsty one-shot. This...is not particularly serious or angsty._

_I have to say that I find it inherently funny that my very first _GrimGrimoire_ omake features Hiram and Opalneria, who are...generally not humorous. But hey._

~X X X~

Hiram Courvoisier, third prince of the kingdom and student of necromancy, groaned heavily as he staggered into his bedroom. His head was pounding, and he figured that his magic specialty had suddenly become useful in day-to-day life because his mouth tasted like something had crawled in there and died.

It was a good thing, he decided, that the wedding was taking place at sunset. He didn't think he could make it before noon. All he wanted was to fall into bed for at least six hours. He wasn't going to bother taking his clothes off; even removing his boots would have seemed like too much work if it hadn't been that he'd been walking on and through enough things that he didn't want to think about that he wasn't letting the soles come anywhere near the bedcovers.

He dropped into a chair and began to lever his boots off. With luck, he'd get at least a few hours of quiet before he was forced to resume his public face.

"I cannot believe what I witnessed!"

Apparently, his luck was not in.

"The very highest gentlemen of this kingdom, including royalty, indulging in debauchery as would put Sodom and Gomorrah to shame!"

Opalneria Rain, formerly Hiram's mistress in the master-apprentice sense, currently so in the more colloquial use of the word, had used her magic so that she appeared to be close to her lover's age so they wouldn't appear so mismatched. Having the youthful face of a nineteen-year-old, though, did not disguise the tone of voice of a woman who'd lived for over a century.

"I cannot believe that you would join in such a thing, Hiram," she snapped. He wondered if it was that century of experience that allowed her to hit exactly the right tone to send a spike of pain through his head from one temple to the other.

"I had to be there," he said. "It was my brother's bachelor party. I'm going to be standing up with him at the altar."

Opalneria sniffed.

"Presuming any of you can stand at all. The bride and her attendants may have to carry you men to your places."

"The toasting," he allowed, "may have gotten somewhat out of hand."

"The last one I heard was when they drained a glass to the health of the bride's seventh cousin twice removed."

Hiram blinked.

"You almost have to be impressed with Derek Marassou," he said, perhaps unwisely. "In that state of intoxication, it's not everyone who would even remember that the bride _had_ a seventh cousin twice removed."

Opalneria arched an eyebrow, but couldn't hold the stern-teacher look for more than a couple of seconds before smiling. Taking this as a signal that his doom was not imminent, Hiram pressed on into waters where he otherwise would not have gone.

"Besides, isn't everything you're talking about why ladies don't attend bachelor parties? I mean, the whole point is to show the groom that if he keeps on with the single lifestyle that he'll be dead from overindulgence within a year so he doesn't get cold feet. You shouldn't have even been there."

"Leaving you free to indulge yourself for the night in gluttony, intemperance, and licentiousness?"

Hiram's eyes widened.

"Licentiousness? Opalneria, that's completely unfair. You can't complain about lustful debauchery when you performed the striptease! I thought old Baron Tanquay was going to die a happy man right at the table when you did that part with the veil and the fan."

Opalneria smirked.

"Oh, did you enjoy the performance, then?"

Hiram was still young enough to blush. The witch's smirk grew into an indulgent smile.

"I thought that you did, from the way you were staring."

"I just don't understand why you did it," he said with a trace of resentment. Her dance had pretty well turned his bones to water, in fact, but a good half the wine he'd downed after it had been to try to take his mind off the fact that it was _his_ lover they'd all been looking at.

She sat down in his lap, swinging one leg over his thighs so she was facing him.

"Because, Hiram..." Opalneria wound her arms around his neck. "...I didn't wait over a hundred years to find love just to have you stare like that at some _other_ woman's breasts." She leaned forward and kissed him, very warmly.

Hiram realized almost at once that he'd been quite wrong about how tired he was.


	2. Truth is More Boring than Fiction

_A/N: Anyone wondering who Cressidor might be should refer to my previous stories, "The Making of a Family" and "Yes, Virgine, There Is a Santa Claus."_

~X X X~

Cressidor Marie Blan-Virgine snuggled into her covers, ready for her bedtime story.

"Once upon a time," the storyteller began, "there was a very handsome young man, with long blond hair and skin like alabaster, and many men and women fancied themselves in love with him."

"Was he a prince?" Cress asked. She was of that age where princes and princesses made everything better in a story.

"No, just a younger son of a wealthy family."

"Oh."

"In any case, one day a witch happened to see this young man, and instantly fell in...well, let's say love," the storyteller edited, mindful of Cress's tender years, "with him. This witch was very beautiful—"

"Like Mama?"

"Perhaps a little bit, but this witch was also wicked and cruel."

"Not like Mama, then."

"Not very much, which is good for you," the storyteller agreed. "The young man was not tempted by her beauty, and the witch became very angry. She put a curse on the young man, turning him into the form of a great beast, and so he would remain forever unless his cold heart melted for love of another, _and_ they came to love him in return despite his hideous form.

"Now, the young man was of a scholarly disposition, and for a while he rather enjoyed the peace and quiet of being a beast; he could actually get some work done without tripping over some lovesick person every five minutes. But when the witch saw this, she grew very annoyed. So she went to her apprentice, who was also very beautiful—"

"Like Mama?"

"Not really; she wasn't wicked or cruel, but she was very silly sometimes. The apprentice had always thought the young man was handsome, and she was a very romantic person, and the witch played upon her nature with the story of how only true love could break the curse. Soon, the apprentice was all swept up in the story and fell head-over-heels in love with him."

"Did she break the curse?"

"No, she did what the witch wanted: she pledged her love for the young man, and she hung around his laboratory and generally made a complete nuisance of herself and caused him no end of trouble. You see, the witch wanted the curse to _be_ a curse, otherwise what would be the point? Finally, though, the apprentice became so irritating that even though she was a friend of his, and even though he knew it was really the witch who was at fault, the young man lost his temper and told her to go away because he didn't need her. Broken-hearted and humiliated, the apprentice slunk off crying, but luckily two days later a prince confessed his love to her and they eventually were married some years later, and the young man went back to his research. And so everybody lived happily every after except the witch, but she was a ghost by that time anyway, so she could hardly be expected to live, happily or otherwise."

The storyteller leaned back, obviously done.

"Um..." Cress began hesitantly. She wasn't quite sure what to say, but her mother had raised her to always be an honest person, especially with loved ones, and Cress supposed she should know. "Grandpa Chartreuse, you tell really bad bedtime stories."

The lion-headed alchemist's face fell, and Cressidor felt sorry for hurting his feelings.

"It's all right, Grandpa!" she tried to reassure him. "Um...I know, I'll tell _you_ a story! Then you'll know a good one to tell if you have any other grandchildren some day!"


	3. Solving It Bartido-Style

"I don't mind saying, I'm sure glad you're along with me, sir," said the watchman.

Bartido Ballentyne didn't doubt it. Among the things the young alchemist had noted during his time as a spy was the efficacy of—when well-run—a professional police in controlling crime. Back home now in Albion, he realized how the population's fear of a standing army was allowing criminals to run more or less wild, restrained only by private "thief-takers" who worked for bounty money. The neighborhood watchmen were largely elderly and ineffectual, most known for having their boxes tipped over by roving bands of "gentlemen" with too much drink in them.

This particular greybeard, Bartido thought with a glance at the man beside him, was at least willing to risk his neck trying to stop the sorcerer who'd been setting loose packs of imps to play violent and destructive pranks in the neighborhood for the past week. He appreciated the courage, which was why he'd been motivated to offer his help.

Well, that and boredom. The problem with being a spy was that a fellow got used to a certain level of excitement, and without that, well, life tended to pall.

"I'm glad to help out," Bartido said.

The two of them picked their way down the by-street. This was the kind of area where such things happened; the residents were generally respectable tradesmen but the coffee-houses and taverns catered to a "better" class of people.

Maybe it wasn't being a spy, Bartido thought. Maybe he'd _become_ a spy to deal _with_ the boredom that seemed to come with being part of the landed gentry, and just wanted to deal with it in a less pointless way than some of his peers did.

"There," he said, pointing. The ruddy light of a sorcerous Rune was shining from an upper-story window. Once a person had seen that particular shade, he didn't easily forget it. "That's the place."

The window was over a tavern, the Dancing Bull. Raucous noise and singing spilled onto the street whenever the door opened, and Bartido and the watchman went inside.

"Oi! Look there, Charlie, decided to give up watching and belly up to the bar plain and simple?" hooted one wag at the sight of the watchman. Since a fair number of the men did spend the night putting away a bottle or two in their watch-boxes, it wasn't actually too much of a stretch.

"You should stand him a drink, Adam."

"Yeah, stand him up now, 'cause you'll be tipping him over later!" someone else cried, and the group dissolved into hilarity over their bowl of rum punch.

"Who's in the front room upstairs?" Bartido snapped to the barkeep.

"Private party, sir," the fat man said obsequiously, trying to respect both the room's occupants and this new, well-dressed and therefore possibly well-paying customer.

Bartido flipped him a gold piece.

"We'll be going up and joining them."

"Always room for one more, I say," replied the taverner.

Bartido's feet hammered on the wooden stairs as he rushed up. The watchman trailed behind, puffing and losing ground to the younger man. The red light was spilling out under one of the four doors in the upstairs hall, so Bartido bent and peeped through the keyhole.

The light came from a completed Hell Gate Rune that had been drawn on the floor, the room's table tipped up on its side to make room. The sorceress was a blonde in a low-cut green dress trimmed and cinched at the waist with gold; it and the glossy, high-heeled boots she wore were casual evening wear for gentry. A red-haired man in a green brocade coat and striped trousers cuddled another blonde on his lap, this one in sapphire-blue. Both of the two observers held pewter quart flagons.

The Hell Gate was burning brightly, indicating that a summoning was taking place, and four black-bodied imps in jingling red jester's caps milled about already.

"Mmm, what shall we have Di do with 'em tonight?" the girl in blue asked. Her voice was slightly slurred, suggesting her tankard had been emptied at least once already.

"Damned fellow Potter had the nerve t'kick me out of his shop last week. Said I was being loud and unruly! Damme, what's the point of a coffeehouse if one can't be unruly? It was only a debate among friends. You were there, weren't you, Di?"

"Indeed I was," the sorceress said. Her face was slick with sweat from the effort of spellcasting and the heat in the close little room, but her voice was clearer than the other two. Apparently she had enough wit to realize that devils were best summoned while sober. "It was a complete accident that you clouted that fellow at the next table on the head and made him spill his coffee over his friend's shirt-front. If Potter didn't try to jam so many tables in there to increase his number of customers, people would have space to argue, so where does he get off blaming _you_?"

"Exactly!" the gentleman said. "Natural consequence of his own actions, is what it was."

"An' he blamed you for it." The girl in his lap managed to be cooing and indignant all at once.

"Well, now he'll pay for that. Right, Di?"

"Quite right."

The light of the Hell Gate dimmed, the fiery aura slowed in its dancing as another imp emerged from the Rune.

"That's it, then," Bartido murmured. He straightened up, grabbed the door-handle, and threw the door open.

"Stop what you're doing, in the name o' the law!" the watchman barked.

This produced nothing but hilarity in the three occupants of the room.

"Look at that! A Charlie who's lost his way."

"Be off with you; get back on the streets before we toss you out ourselves."

The sorceress was the only one to take immediate note of Bartido.

"Wait. Who are you, and what's your business here?"

"Quick, lad, use your magic afore she sets those devils on us!" said the watchman, clutching Bartido's arm. He had to give the man credit for courage—plenty of people would have run screaming from the imps. Good judgment in choosing his words, though, was something else entirely.

The woman in green lifted her wand. Probably she intended to empower her Hell Gate further—it took a more advanced Rune to compel imps to fight than it did to summon them. Could he cast a Rune of his own and summon defenders in time?

_Why bother?_

Bartido yanked his hand free, took two strides forward, and hit Di with a quick uppercut that snapped her teeth together with a clack. She went over and out onto the floor. Her two companions stared at him.

"You...you _hit_ her! A woman!"

He blinked.

"What, it would have been better if I'd created a chimera to eat her?" he drawled.

"Peace!" yelped an imp; they scuttled for the Rune and were gone in an instant. Apparently _they_ did not consider being eaten by a chimera to be the superior fate.

"But...but you're a gentleman, damn my eyes."

Bartido's gaze swept up and down the pair of them.

"Like you'd know. And besides, I'm not a gentleman. I'm a _magician_."

~X X X~

_A/N: Players will already know that Bartido doesn't have any Wouldn't Hit a Girl hangups, as he showed Ms. Opalneria in Loop III._


	4. Pet the Black Dog

The light from the Rune was a dull, dusty red, like old blood or a heady, spiced vintage redolent of corruption. It was the light of Sorcery, of the magic which concerned itself with the summoning and binding of devils, creatures of evil and chaos, the rebels against God. It was a fearful hue, of things that were ill-omened, and which reminded even responsible magicians of why their art was still tainted by accusations of "witchcraft" and "sacrilege." It prompted respect, caution, even a little fear.

"Mama, can we keep one of the puppies?"

Except, apparently, in seven-year-old girls who'd grown up in the house of the kingdom's most powerful magician.

"Cressidor," Lillet Blan told her daughter, "those aren't puppies. They're barghests."

This was not entirely true. The last barghest she'd summoned had proven to be heavily gravid, so she'd allowed the creature of Chaos to remain in the world until the young were birthed. Now, Lillet was sending the six creatures back to the fringes of Hell, which was their natural habitat.

They did, mind you, look something akin to wolflike dogs with jet-black fur, if one ignored the burning red eyes, the flickers of flame along the lolling tongues, and the fact that the mother barghest was as tall at the shoulder as Lillet.

Cress did not seem to consider these very important differences.

"I'll take very good care of it, Mama," she offered. "I'll feed it every night, and I'll take it for walks, and I'll play with it so it doesn't get lonely!" Her mothers, she'd learned, were very big on "responsibility" as a theme.

Not this time, though.

Lillet sighed.

"Cress, honey, that isn't the point. Barghests aren't dogs, even though they look that way. They are magical creatures of darkness, and part of their basic nature is violent and destructive. They're not at all like a domestic animal which can be raised with love."

Cress's face fell.

Just then, there was a soft knock at the door, which was then pushed open so a beautiful ash-blonde could step into the room.

"Amoretta," Lillet greeted her with a smile.

"Hi, Mother!" Cress chimed in.

"Cressidor, I told you that Lillet was working magic and that you shouldn't disturb her."

"I'm not disturbing her," Cress protested.

"Well, not the magic part," Lillet allowed. "I've had the binding up on these since the beginning, so she can't cause any kind of unfortunate accident by interrupting me."

"Ahh," said the black cat cradled in Amoretta's arms. "'Tis very wise, that. 'Tisn't so hard for a summoner to banish one's own devils, rather than exorcise one against its will."

Amoretta, more concerned with parenting than magical technicalities, caught on quickly to what Lillet had said, and what she had _not_ said.

"If not the magic, then how _is_ she disturbing you?" she said, with a warning glance at Cress.

"She wants to keep one of the barghests for a pet, and I was just explaining how they aren't really animals but minor devils who don't react the same way to being raised with love and−" She broke off, looking at the grimalkin cradled in her lover's arms.

Grimalkin's pink tongue extended and began to wash one of his paws.

"Oh, all right, Cress, you can have a puppy."


	5. It'd Be Easier Being Bedeviled

Being the caretaker and house-servant for a magician was an important job for an elf. It was one that Gaff took particularly seriously, as he did not serve Royal Magician Lillet Blan as the result of a magical summoning contract, but due to personal association and liking. Accordingly, he paid close attention to the amount of work he had to do and the time he had available to do it in. Even the Hallows' Eve revelry the night before had not slowed his attention to his work.

It had, however, made for more _of_ it. Lillet and her homunculus lover Amoretta had attended the Palace masquerade the night before, the result of which was that all the supplies for getting them into their costumes were left out, while the costumes themselves had also been discarded when they returned from the party with rather less care and ceremony than had been used in putting them on. Gaff supposed he could have used the time while they were at the masque to do some of the clean-up from the prep work...but servants, too, even elven ones attached to magicians, had also been in attendance, enjoying the party.

"Apparently not as much as some people did, though," he muttered, extracting the remains of Amoretta's costume from the back of a chair, the carved corner of a writing desk, and the twisted and tangled bedsheets.

"I'm sorry; I was going to clean that up, but I overslept."

Lillet's voice made Gaff almost jump out of his shoes.

"I thought you were a magician, not a sneak thief!" he gasped, heart pounding.

She still had a blush on her cheeks from the implications of Gaff's first complaint even as she extended one leg.

"Master Freixenet was working on an enchantment for silent-step shoes," she said. "We're still having trouble with the duration, but the base enchantment works pretty well, don't you think?"

"I can't argue that," Gaff agreed.

Lillet walked over to the bookshelf and eyed her collection of yet-unread novels.

"Do you think you could bring up a tea-tray, Gaff? I slept right through breakfast and I'm starving!"

"Sure. Do you want late breakfast, early lunch, or high tea?"

Lillet selected a book, plucking down an adventure story that had been serialized in the _Flying Mercury_ the year before she'd moved to the capital.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever gets the food back here the fastest. It's times like this I envy Amoretta's lack of appetite." As a homunculus, Amoretta ate less food than a natural human since she drew much of her energy from the magical processes of her flask.

"Okay. What about coffee?"

"No, that's all right." She grinned and added, "Thankfully someone had had an urn brought up to the research lab. After last night I think that was probably the most insightful decision we'll make all day."

"I'm guessing hangover-curing magic will be pretty popular."

Lillet wrinkled her nose; she'd had two glasses of champagne punch at the revel but no more.

"Probably," she agreed, seating herself in one of the armchairs by the hearth.

"That reminds me, Lillet. Don't you usually have a lecture scheduled for this time?" Gaff was actually a little put out with himself that he'd apparently gotten it wrong, because it was a lot harder to clean up when the room's owner was actually there using it. Not only would she be physically in the way, or needing him to do things other than clean, but he also had to be careful not to disturb her by making noise or kicking up clouds of dust.

"Oh, you mean how I've been helping Mistress Livingston with the sorcery demonstrations for the apprentices? Yes, I usually would be doing that, but it was cancelled for today."

"Did she oversleep even worse than you did?"

Lillet shook her head.

"It's Hallowmas today, remember?"

Gaff blinked.

"Yesterday was Hallow's Eve, so I get that, but what different does that make?"

"Well, to you, nothing. Elves and other fey creatures, or ghosts, or alchemical creatures like Amoretta don't notice, but Hallowmas is the feast of celebration of the saints. Essentially, it's as if the entire world was consecrated ground, which makes the power of devils and sorcery drastically reduced unless special barriers are erected, which of course would be forbidden on palace grounds. So the lecture was cancelled."

"I see," Gaff mused, feeling better now that he knew his memory wasn't at fault. "So _that_ explains why Grimalkin has been hiding under the bed all morning!"


	6. She's Doggedly Working At It

It was what would generally be considered a heartwarming scene. A little girl of about seven with ash-blonde curls sitting on the floor, playing with a puppy and trying to teach it to do tricks. Of course, in the household of Mage Consul Lillet Blan, things weren't always exactly the way they seemed.

"All right now," Cressidor Blan-Virgine encouraged her pet. "Ready, Shuck?" She pointed dramatically at an aspidistra. "Breathe fire!"

The jet-black puppy with glowing red eyes gave a little cough, and a fist-sized globe of fire hacked out of its open mouth. It struck the potted plant, flared for a moment, and died down, leaving the aspidistra untouched.

"Good boy!" Cress said enthusiastically. "Good Shuck!" She patted the baby barghest on the head, which was not all that easy due to how much he was squirming and jumping around, wagging his tail so enthusiastically that his whole hind end was moving. He'd been working on this trick all morning and he was very happy that he'd been able to please his mistress.

Gaff, the elven majordomo, appeared less happy.

"I know this house has been warded against fire since before we moved the first dragon into the stables, but are you sure it's a good idea to test the protection on purpose?"

"Mm-hm!" Cress defended her actions, knowing herself to be on firm ground as far as behavior went (this time). "Mama says that since fire-breathing is dangerous, we should teach Shuck early on that it's something he should do as a trick when we tell him to, not on his own."

She reached into her pocket and fished out a biscuit.

"Here you go, boy, for doing a good job!"

Shuck sniffed at the biscuit, then turned his nose up at it.

"What's wrong, Shuck? Don't you like your treat?"

He didn't seem inclined to like it.

"Kids can be pretty picky eaters," Gaff said.

"Even _Mother_ didn't eat the turnip souffle," Cress defended her taste buds. Still, she had to admit there was a problem. How could she teach her barghest that he was a good puppy if he didn't like his reward?

~X X X~

"Hi, Cress," Gaff said the next day when he walked into the living room. "More training?"

"Uh-huh!" She pointed at the fireplace. "Shuck, ignite!"

Shuck crouched down, front paws outstretched and digging into the carpet, haunches up, and exhaled a long, thin stream of fire. He kept it up until the logs in the fireplace burst into a crackling, popping orange flame.

"Good boy!" Cress caroled to the wiggling ball of fluff. "Here you go!" She reached up into a chair where a plate was sitting and plucked a tidbit off it. She tossed it to the puppy and Shuck snapped it out of the air, munching happily.

"He seems to like today's treats better than yesterday's."

"Mm-hm! I thought he might like something that reminds him of home."

"Oh? What are you feeding him?"

"Deviled ham!"


	7. Love Does Leave Its Mark

_This omake was inspired by one of yuiseppe's comics (which is featured in her DeviantArt gallery for all to see!). Thanks, yui! ^_^ Posting it for the day after New Year's Eve seemed appropriate..._

~X X X~

As far as elven life went, Gaff thought he had it pretty sweet. Like many of his race, the boyish young elf was the servant of a magician, but he wasn't a familiar bound by the ancient contract between the faerie-folk and the humans. Rather, he was a salaried employee, whose work was valued in good, solid gold. And his mistress, Lillet Blan, was arguably the most powerful among the Royal Magicians despite not having yet seen her twentieth year.

In other words, when Gaff visited home, he got to feel pretty smug about how he was doing, and his mother could brag incessantly across the garden fence. It wasn't every day the formulaic phrase "friend of elves" could be literally applied to a magician, implying genuine friendship. Yes, generally Gaff had a pretty nice life for a young working elf.

Generally.

Most of the time.

"I just changed those sheets this morning!" he moaned, looking at the disheveled state of the bedclothes.

Lillet blushed, the honey-blonde's sheepish expression emphasizing her youth. Amoretta Virgine, the homunculus who was Lillet's wife in all but name, merely tilted her head to one side curiously. She was sitting on the edge of the couch, though, and looking at her made him take in further details in that direction.

"And...and...do you know how long it's going to take to get those stains out of the couch?" Many a novel had expressed scenes of squalor by referring to "unidentifiable stains," but Gaff would have been _more than happy_ to not know which bodily fluids had been involved. "Those are going to set if I don't get to them right away!"

The black cat cradled in Amoretta's arms stirred and raised his head.

"You might also check the fireplace rug," he said helpfully. "I noticed a certain odor when I didst return an hour past."

Gaff's eyes widened. Lillet refused to meet his gaze. Amoretta just shrugged.

"The firelight looks nice on Lillet's skin," she observed without a hint of shame. Gaff just buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"Dad always said, never work for a girl in love, and here I've got two of them. It's bad enough at night, but the next time you two are feeling frisky in the afternoon, could you get a room?"

"Gaff, this _is_ our room," Amoretta pointed out.

"Okay...could you get a room that it's not my job to clean?"


	8. Bring the Black Dog to Heel

Cressidor Blan-Virgine was definitely her mothers' daughter. On a rainy afternoon—and sometimes even a sunny one—she liked nothing better than to hop up in one of the big armchairs in one of the libraries and delve into one of the large, leather-bound storybooks. Whether it was tales of knights and princesses, heroes and monsters, saints and prophets, or wizards and enchantments, she loved to lose herself in a good story. Of course, it was also fun when her Mama, Lillet, would read or tell stories to her, but it was a different kind of fun to discover the tales for herself. She especially liked connected groups of stories like those of Arthur's knights or the adventures of King David, because she got to meet old friends that way and find fresh sides to an earlier story when a new one revealed something about it or picked up on a link between them.

Sometimes, her puppy would curl up in front of her chair while she was reading. Cress liked that, because rainy days were often chilly and she could dig her toes into his warm fur.

Today, though, he wasn't there; he was out for his after-lunch walk in the garden.

At least, he was supposed to be.

"Get back here, you overgrown mole!"

The raised voice belonged to Gaff, the Blan-Virgine household's elven majordomo. A moment later, two hundred and fifty pounds of half-grown barghest hurtled through the door, trailing mud, and with keen doggy instinct pulled up next to his mistress's chair, whimpering.

"Shuck, what happened to you? You're all muddy, and those are some nasty cuts and scratches!"

Shuck lifted his face helplessly. His eyes were blank pools of scarlet fire, those of a terrifying apparition in the night, but they still looked pathetic.

"I'll tell you what happened," Gaff said, following him in. The young elf was no taller than Cress, which emphasized how silly it seemed when he grabbed the barghest's collar and the black dog cringed. "Cook gave Shuck the bone from last night's beef joint."

"Oh, Shuck must have loved that!"

"He did. In fact, he loved it so much that he went out to bury it in the garden."

Cress frowned at her puppy.

"Shuck! You know you're not supposed to dig holes except in the side yard by the kitchen!"

He probably didn't actually understand the words, but the tone made him hang his head.

"It gets worse. He picked the freshest-turned spot in the garden to dig, probably because it was easiest."

"Oh, no! Aren't those Mama's new rosebushes? The magic ones I'm not supposed to go near?"

Gaff nodded.

"That's how he got all scratched up. Sleeping Beauties attack any intruders who try to get through. Mr. Deviled Fuzz here all but torched one and ripped half the vines off another like he thought he was an enchanted prince, and got a couple of nasty stabs in return. His right hind leg needs attention. Then, of course, he ran away and came in here, leaving mud and dripping ichor everywhere. He's just lucky I got the carpets enchanted with Glenlivet's Warding so the stains won't set in."

Cress pouted, then pointed her finger at Shuck.

"Bad dog!" she pronounced sentence. "Now, you go with Gaff and get a bath and some healing magic, and don't give him any trouble!"

Shuck whimpered again at the hated word 'bath,' but there was no mercy to be had. The elf, maybe one-fourth his size, dragged him off to the place of his punishment.

Cress snuggled back down into her chair and opened her book again. She couldn't help but wonder, though, how many of the rampaging monsters in the stories wouldn't have learned such bad habits if they'd just been properly trained growing up.


	9. Whine and Cheese

Lillet Blan was many things: a Royal Magician of the palace's magical staff; a prodigy who'd gained her abilities not through genius but by hard work and study, falling through the loops of time for centuries even though she didn't remember it; a woman devoted to her family who sent a substantial portion of her salary home to pay for her little brother to attend school; an equally devoted lover to her homunculus girlfriend.

She was also a teenager.

"It's not fair!" she complained, somewhere into the third hour of work at her desk.

Amoretta Virgine, the homunculus in question, set a cup down at Lillet's right elbow. Fragrant steam rose from the hot tea inside.

"What's wrong, Lillet?"

"This!" Lillet waved her hand at the pile of papers in front of her. "Why on earth do I have to waste all this time on things that I already know how to do?"

"I don't understand."

"Master Freixenet has me filling out this paper on various functions of intermediate-grade sorcery."

"Oh, is that the test, then?"

Lillet pouted, nodding.

"I feel just like when I was studying basic theory at the Magical Society. Only then, the tests were on things I was learning."

Amoretta smiled to herself, thinking that it was cute in its way to see Lillet being petulant. It wasn't, of course, that Lillet didn't genuinely understand what was going on or why she was being tested. It was just the effect of several hours of mind-numbing drudgery on an active mind.

"You know that Master Freixenet requires every new appointment to the Royal House of Magic to undergo these tests," she said, to remind Lillet that the irritation and boredom had a point.

"I know," Lillet sighed.

"Without an accurate gauge of your ability, he can't decide which Royal Magician can be assigned to which projects that the Crown needs to accomplish," she went on.

"Yes, yes. Tell me something I don't know," Lillet muttered.

"All the Court Society ladies are wearing mantles over their dresses this season, but it's only because Lady de Sangri likes wine too much and spilled some over her daughter's dress in their carriage on the way to Prince Aidan's engagement ball. All the debutantes consider Helen de Sangri to be a leader in fashion, so they all started imitating her, not realizing that she was only covering up the stain."

Lillet blinked at Amoretta, her violet eyes wide and uncomprehending.

_"What?"_

"You said to tell you something that you didn't know, and I was fairly certain that you didn't know that, since you don't follow fashion and I only heard it accidentally myself when Mistress Absinthe's apprentice was—"

"Amoretta, I didn't mean _literally_! It's just an—"

Amoretta couldn't hold back her giggle any longer; it bubbled up out of her, and a moment later Lillet laughed too, realizing how she'd been taken in.

"Thanks, sweetheart, I needed that, even if it was an _awful_ joke. And thanks for the tea, too."

"You're welcome." She leaned in, brushed Lillet's hair back, and kissed her on the forehead. "Would you like me to have Gaff bring us up some dinner?"

"Yes, please. It's going to take me at least another three hours to get through all of this." Sighing heavily, Lillet moaned, "I knew this job has responsibilities, but I thought that once I'd graduated from magic school I'd at least be through with _homework_!"


	10. Another Dog Tale

Story time was Cressidor Blan-Virgine's favorite time of day. This was something that she was not embarrassed to admit, even though she had reached the advanced and mature age of seven. Mind you, her mother Amoretta would have been disappointed in her _had_ she been embarrassed to admit it, since Amoretta put a very high priority on honesty. But more than that, her mama Lillet was a really _good_ storyteller, who knew just how to make her laugh with a funny story or keep her on the edge of her seat with an exciting story or make her shiver with a (very rare, for special occasions) scary story. And she was really sneaky about the "mom" part, since she wouldn't just come out and _say_ what the moral of a story was when it had one, so sometimes it'd be a couple of days before Cress realized that there was a lesson in there.

Lillet, for her part, loved it as well. Some of her favorite childhood memories had been when Grandpa Blan would lean back in his chair, light his old, cracked briar pipe, and treat the kids to one of his seemingly endless stock of tales. The old man hadn't just attracted the children, though—Lillet's parents, her Aunt Ginny, and the occasional guest often would stop and bend an ear when Grandpa got going.

She couldn't help but be a little bit proud of herself, because she was able to achieve the same effect. Amoretta joined the two of them nearly every night when she wasn't working at the theater, of course, as did her cat Grimalkin, but on most nights the gallery that ran around the library's upper level attracted a few of the servants, human and elven alike, who found that by some coincidence the job they were doing there took them until just after the words, "The End." Lillet never bothered to chase them off, though on certain occasions where she wanted it to just be family she'd save the story for Cress's bedtime.

However, it was the most common guest that caused the problem that night. Lillet and Cressidor were just getting settled in on the couch, when Cress's dog Shuck came bounding into the room. As perhaps fitting for the daughter of the kingdom's Mage Consul, Shuck was a barghest, a fire-breathing Black Dog of legend who, now nearly full-grown, had his back come level with the top of Lillet's head when she was standing. Tongue lolling happily at the sight of his mistress, he leaped into the air and landed full-length on the couch.

"Ooof!" Lillet and Cress grunted together as the breath was driven from their bodies, but they were drowned out by the snapping of wood and the grating of nails being pulled free. All four legs of the couch broke as one, and the piece of furniture dropped six inches to the rug with a jarring impact.

"Shuck," Lillet groaned, "I hate to have to be strict, but you are officially too big to be a lap dog."


	11. The Ties That Bind

Royal Magician Lillet Blan was whistling a happy little tune as she returned to her chambers in the Royal House of Magic. Her good mood was only increased when she saw that her homunculus lover Amoretta was at home.

"Hi, Amoretta! Hey, Grimalkin," she greeted the ash-blonde girl and her cat.

"Welcome home, Lillet. I'll be done with this in a moment," Amoretta said. Grimalkin didn't say anything, but did pause in washing his forepaw long enough to acknowledge the young magician with a nod.

"It's okay. I was working on some really tricky necromancy Runes with Master Freixenet and Master Benedictine, and I'm beat! If you don't mind, I'd just as soon have dinner sent up rather than eat in the dining hall tonight. Or would that be a bother?" Knowing Amoretta, Lillet thought it was more likely she'd actually prefer to eat with Lillet in private rather than socialize, but it was still polite to ask.

"Oh, no, that's all right. I would enjoy staying in with you."

Lillet smiled, then dropped into a well-upholstered armchair.

"I'd hoped you would." With that out of the way, she started to take a look at what it was Amoretta was actually doing. She appeared to be securing a silk strip to the headboard of the bed; another one was already fastened beside it.

"Amoretta, what are those for?"

The homunculus pulled the knot tight, then gave it a tug to test it.

"I thought you could use them to tie my arms tonight."

Lillet found herself blushing furiously, and very glad that she hadn't been drinking something.

"Um...Amoretta, I...I really don't find that kind of thing all that...I mean, it isn't..." she stammered helplessly. Since moving to the capital and making a wide variety of acquaintances from various walks of life, Lillet had heard people talk about a number of sexual practices she'd never imagined, but she was still at heart a simple country girl.

Besides, if they were going to experiment like that, having Amoretta tied and at her mercy was more disturbing than exciting. Amoretta wasn't a familiar, but she was still a homunculus and the comparison was close enough to be off-putting.

No, the idea of having control over Amoretta during lovemaking wasn't a source of arousal.

Amoretta's response to Lillet's discomfiture wasn't what she expected. She tilted her head to one side curiously, then broke into giggles.

"Lillet, I didn't mean it like that!" she said through the laughter. "I thought it might help train me to lay still at night so I don't push you out of bed while we're asleep again."

The magician's blush grew, if possible, even hotter.

"Oh," she said in a very small voice.

"Lillet?" Amoretta asked, instantly concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Just...really, really embarrassed, that's all."

"Why? Lovers talk about making love, don't they? It seems very natural to me."

"Well, yes...but I jumped to the conclusion that..."

Amoretta walked over to her, smiling, and leaned down, putting her hands on Lillet's shoulders.

"Lillet, I _like_ that your first impulses are to think of me in terms of expressions of love, sexual or any other kind. That's not something to be embarrassed about."

It was impossible to resist the earnestness in the homunculus's gaze. Lillet let out a long sigh.

"Thanks, little love. I feel a lot less silly now."

"Good." She bent down and kissed Lillet softly on the lips.

Under the circumstances, Amoretta decided that she would save the rose-scented massage oil she'd prepared in the alchemy lab that afternoon, knowing that Lillet would likely come home worn out from work, for an after-dinner surprise.


	12. Putting the Bite in That Story

"Ah!" Cressidor Blan-Virgine yelped sharply, interrupting her mothers' flow of dinner conversation. Both blonde women swiveled their heads in the girl's direction.

"Cress, what is it?" Amoretta Virgine asked.

"Are you all right?" Lillet Blan said simultaneously.

The seven-year-old made some very interesting faces as her tongue sorted out the contents of her mouth so she could swallow the bite of sausage and egg noodles she'd been chewing. That done, she reached up and daintily plucked a bicuspid from between her lips.

"My tooth fell out!" she protested. Cress was trying very hard not to cry. It didn't _hurt_, though the empty spot in her jaw did taste a little of blood and stung slightly when she probed it with her tongue, but she was really worried. It took a lot of effort to keep her composure; she kept thinking of the beggars she'd seen in the streets of the capital, or of the elderly, with their gap-toothed grins.

"Oh, no! Lillet, can it be fixed?" Amoretta displayed her fear more openly than her daughter.

"Probably, but I don't think it has to. Cress, dear, has this tooth been loose and wiggling for a while?"

"Mm-hm." She felt the first hint of tears beginning to well up in her eyes. Lillet, though, gave her a gentle smile and leaned over to cup her face.

"It's all right, Cress. This is supposed to happen."

"Mama?" Cress blinked in surprise. Lillet nodded.

"Humans are born with two sets of teeth. Their first set comes in when they're babies, but when they get bigger, those teeth fall out and their adult teeth grow in. You're right at the age when that starts to happen. It's just a sign that you're growing up into a big girl."

Cressidor sniffled.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then why do some adults not have their teeth?"

"Because adult teeth can be lost, too. They won't fall out naturally like baby teeth do, but they can be knocked out in a fight or accident, or a disease like scurvy can make it happen, or tooth-decay can make a tooth sick so that it has to be taken out."

Cress gulped. None of those things sounded very good.

"Mama, are you really, _really_ sure this is okay?"

"Yes." Lillet nodded firmly. She paused, though, for a second and said, "In fact, there's a story in some villages that if a child puts the tooth under their pillow at night when they go to sleep, a fairy will come to take the tooth and leave a penny in its place."

Cress blinked in surprise.

"She will?"

"I've never heard that story," Amoretta said curiously. Lillet half-turned her head towards Cress's other mother and for a brief instant there was a very sharp look on her face, but the smile was firmly in place when she turned back to her daughter.

"That's right. Maybe you should try it tonight."

Cressidor looked at her mother dubiously.

"Are you sure, Mama? Why would a fairy leave a penny for my tooth?"

Lillet shrugged.

"Who can say? You know, though, how stories about the fae people work. They never take something from humans without leaving something in return. Sometimes the bargain seems really unfair, either in their favor or in ours, but there's always a trade, whether it's a changeling for a human baby or doing all the household chores for a bowl of milk."

"Ha! I only wish that last one was true!" said Gaff, the family's elven majordomo, wheeling in the cart with the after-dinner coffee. "If you know how to get a parlormaid to be happy to do all the cleaning, let me know, huh, Lillet?"

That made all of them laugh, and Cressidor tucked the tooth away in a pocket of her dress so she wouldn't leave it behind. After all, while her family was very well-off, a penny of her own was something else entirely!

~X X X~

"Lillet, I've never heard of any such story," Amoretta said after dinner, once Cressidor was off playing with her dog in another part of the house, "and I read that entire book of faerie legends that you complied when you were still a Royal Magician."

"You read that? I didn't know you were interested in magical legends."

"I'm not, but you wrote it."

Lillet blushed.

"I'm always amazed how you can say things like that so bluntly, even after being with you all these years."

Amoretta smiled.

"It's true, though. Anything you do interests me. But," she added, the smile vanishing, "that doesn't change the question of where that story came form. You just made it up right then, didn't you?"

"I did," Lillet admitted.

"You lied to our daughter, Lillet!"

"It wasn't a lie, it's a childhood custom, like Santa Claus delivering presents on Christmas." Lillet remembered the discussion she and Amoretta had had about celebrating that custom when Cress had first turned old enough to understand the concept of Santa. When it came to honesty, Amoretta was a shining star, but that purity created trouble sometimes when it ran into questions of tact and manners and other socially mandated untruths.

She wasn't convinced this time, either.

"Santa Claus is celebrated by millions of people across the continent. Not letting Cress believe in Santa would deny her the happy memories and shared cultural experience of her peers. There are good reasons to go along with that. This tooth-buying fairy of yours isn't the same at all."

Lillet nodded.

"Did you see how scared she was, though?"

"I was worried, too. I didn't know about humans' teeth changing, though I suppose it makes sense. An adult's teeth wouldn't fit in a child's mouth."

"Not just about that, but when I told her why it was that adults lose teeth. I think that's one of Cress's personal fears."

"Losing her teeth?"

Lillet shrugged.

"Some children are afraid of the dark. My little brother—Rob, I mean—hated spiders and was afraid that they'd drop down on his face while he slept. It is kind of a creepy thought, having some sickness that makes your teeth rot out of your mouth."

Amoretta nodded.

"So you made up the story to distract her?"

"Uh-huh. After all, there's another twenty-seven baby teeth to go, so I wanted to give her a happy thought instead of a scary one to associate with it." She watched her beloved think the explanation over with a bit of anxiety. Amoretta always took such matters seriously and was willing to hear Lillet out, something that in and of itself the Mage Consul considered an incredible gift (and one that she herself didn't always return when her emotions ran high), but it didn't mean that the beautiful homunculus always _agreed_ with her.

This time, though, fortune, or providence, was on Lillet's side.

"All right, Lillet, I see your point, though if it comes up again I think we should work with Cressidor to help her overcome her fears. It's not good if they keep preying on her."

"I agree, but hopefully it will be a one-time thing."

"I hope so, too."

Lillet broke into a sudden smile.

"I wonder if Cress will tell her friends about this? Who knows; maybe it will start a new legend!"

"I don't think she will unless it actually comes true."

"Well, of course it's going to come true! I'm certainly not going to give our daughter false hopes."

~X X X~

The two-foot-tall figure's insect-like wings glistened and sparkled in the verdant light of the magical Rune. Her expression, though, definitely did not suggest flowers and rainbows as she hovered, fists on hips, leaning forward slightly towards her summoner.

"Would you mind repeating that?" she said, tapping her foot on empty air. "You summoned me here to do _what_?"

Lillet smiled innocently at her.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."


	13. Either That or Get a Different Bird

The spring rains, Lillet Blan thought, might have brought the promise of rebirth and renewal for the land with them, but in the capital they were just as gray and dismal as those that fell in autumn. The downpour hammered on the pointed roof of the tower room like thunder, to the point that had there been any actual thunder it might well have been drowned out. Chilly drafts blew in the open windows, and occasionally sprays of water accompanied a particularly forceful gust.

"I appreciate your spending the time to hear me out on this, Mage Consul," Lillet's gray-bearded companion said. Royal Magician Lars Aquavit certainly looked the part of a wizard, with his steeple hat and long robe festooned with astrological charms, though his broad-shouldered build and square, hard features always gave Lillet the impression that he was a soldier or laborer dressed up as a magician for a masquerade.

"Not at all. The idea of using magical familiars to convey messages over long distances, much faster than the mail coaches or a courier, could be very useful. Not only would it benefit people, but if it ever became within the reach of less-skilled magicians it would be the kind of thing that would allow magic to start taking its place as an ordinary craft in society, an accepted part of mundane life."

Aquavit stroked his beard, thinking that over.

"I hadn't quite thought of it that way, but you've got a good point. Of course, this particular Rune is a little beyond the average hedge-wizard's level of ability, but the general principles..."

"And even at that level it could still be of service to the government, for urgent diplomatic or military communications. Or to merchant houses and joint-stock companies. Knowing the market prices in Albion or Lusatia might be the difference between rich profits and heavy losses."

"That it could." He said it heavily, probably because he hadn't thought of the _kind_ of messages people would send with his idea. As a role, magicians tended to be scholars and introverts, for whom social and political considerations were afterthoughts. Lillet herself had been that way, something her commoner origins hadn't helped, but her time as a Royal Magician had proven to be quite an education. She still wasn't comfortable with her present role as Mage Consul, but then again who would be? "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown," and all that, which she supposed applied to ministers of said crowned head's Grand Council as well.

Thankfully, Aquavit distracted her from those thoughts before they started becoming depressing.

"Ha! There it is," he cried, and pointed out one of the windows. At first Lillet saw nothing, but then caught sight of a spark of orange light. It rapidly grew nearer, until with a flutter of wings a large bird rushed through the open aperture and settled neatly on a perch fixed near the room's center. It looked much like a large bird of prey like the gyrfalcons in the royal mews, but its plumage was a fantastic riot of reds and oranges shading through brilliant blues and pure whites. It was the various colors of flame, the hottest hues near its breast shading to the coldest by its wing-tips.

Ordinarily, the phoenix would have looked magnificent, but the rain had taken its toll, leaving it a mass of bedraggled, sodden feathers.

"Poor thing; it looks like a drowned rat," Lillet sympathized.

"Do not worry; the message pouch is made of waterproof oilskin to keep it safe." Aquavit pointed to the band on the phoenix's leg and the shiny, dark material of the small packet affixed to it.

"That's good, but is the bird all right?"

The phoenix shifted on its perch, then flapped its wings twice. Incandescent fire roared up, wreathing the bird and flowing over its body, sending plumes of steam hissing into the air. The flames vanished, and the now perfectly dry creature settled back and preened.

Ashes trickled down over the perch and drifted like snowflakes to the floor. The two magicians stared speechlessly for a moment, before Lillet found her voice.

"Master Aquavit?"

"...Yes?"

"I think before you try this again, you should figure out a way to also make the pouch fireproof."


	14. Good Intentions

"Wheeeee!" Cressidor Blan-Virgine squealed as she dashed down the bank and leapt through the air, splashing into the deep pool. The blonde seven-year-old surfaced next to the girl who'd suggested the swimming trip; Molly Lauter was some kind of distant relative, a fourth cousin twice removed or something like that, but the important part was that she knew all the best spots to have fun around the Blan farm. On a hot summer day, swimming was definitely a great way to cool off.

"Tol'ja it'd be fun!" the nine-year-old crowed at the sight of Cress's smile.

"Mm-hm! Swimming in a swimming hole is a lot better than the ocean; the water's not all salty."

"You've been to the ocean?" Molly asked in surprise.

"Just once," Cress tried to downplay it, realizing that Molly probably had never left the farm village in her life, except maybe to a nearby market or fair. Cress's mothers had been sure to point out that it was Not a Nice Thing to talk about the things they had at home that the locals didn't have. Lillet Blan succeeding in going from a peasant family to the kingdom's Mage Consul was something to be happy about, not be snotty to people over.

"That must be fun. You'll hafta tell me about it."

"Okay." It was all right if Molly _asked_, right?

"You should make her earn it, Cress!" Lillet called from the bank from where she was providing adult supervision.

"No fair!" Molly protested.

"Sure it is. You want a story from Cress, right? And I know you like stories, 'cause of how you ask Dad for them. So if she's going to give you a treat, you should earn it. How about a race across the swimming hole and back? If you beat her, then she has to tell you all about our trip to the seacoast last summer."

"What if I win, Mama?" Cress asked.

"Then...Molly has to show you her prize-winning sheep."

Cress's eyes lit up.

"You have a sheep? And it won a prize?"

Molly looked smug.

"Best in show at the Baron's Fair, children's ring!"

"Ooh! You'd better be ready to swim hard, then!"

Lillet grinned as the two girls went over to the short side of the oblong pool. _Perfect. Now Molly won't think of the story as bragging because she had to earn it as a prize, and she gets to feel good because she's done something Cress will look up to her for._ A family visit to her parents' farm could get a little tricky with the neighbors. Of course her mother and father weren't awed by Lillet's status, just proud of her, but she didn't want to make for bad feelings with anyone else.

"Ready?" she called. When both girls nodded, she went on with, "Okay, get set...go!"

The two girls launched themselves forward, arms splashing furiously. As expected, Molly soon pulled ahead, being older at an age where two years mattered a lot and also having much more practice swimming. Her strokes were neat and efficient compared with Cressidor's, which involved more chaotic flailing than they should have.

Suddenly, a jet-black blur shot past Lillet and cannoned into the water with a titanic splash. The pool churned and razor-sharp fangs snapped at Cressidor. As the water stilled, Cress found herself held clear of the water, the back of her bathing-dress in the grip of an extremely large canine's teeth.

"Shuck!" she complained to her pet barghest, "I wasn't drowning! You didn't need to dive in to rescue me!"

~X X X~

_A/N: When I was a kid not much older than Cress, my dog would do the same thing—if I was in the water, she'd jump in and try to pull me out. We couldn't even let her in the back yard when I was in the swimming pool!_


	15. It Didn't Resonate With Lillet

_A/N: In which we are reminded that Amoretta is, in fact, a blonde..._

~X X X~

Amoretta Virgine set the empty wineglass down on the dining-room table and regarded it thoughtfully. After a moment's consideration, the homunculus took a deep breath, then began to sing, lifting her voice in the closing aria from _Moonlight_.

She was going to perform the role at the City Theater beginning next week, but this was not practice. In truth, she didn't _need_ to practice. As an alchemical life form built up around the spirit of an angel, her voice was always flawless without the need for exercises or other work, and always produced the sounds she requested of it. She did routinely require coaching in what parts of a song to emphasize or what mood the director wanted to evoke in a particular production, but these were stylistic choices to be worked on with the company's music director, not at home in her living room. Likewise, while her voice may have been perfect, her acting most definitely was not, but again that was something to be practiced at the theater, with guidance, not alone at home.

Her voice soared as she sang the exquisite lament. It was actually one of her favorite pieces of music, for it was the song of the Moon Fairy as the human hero of the opera elects at the last to remain in the mortal world and with the village girl Meg. Being inhuman herself, she could easily sympathize with the loss and pain of the character as she pours out her broken heart. It made her very grateful to have her Lillet.

The song went on, building towards its climax. In the hall outside, more than once a servant stopped to listen to the music. The room actually had fairly good acoustics, and Amoretta's voice built and built, until...

There was a sharp ringing sound.

"Amoretta!"

Amoretta looked up as Lillet Blan rushed into the room.

"Amoretta, what are you doing?"

"I've heard that if a singer's voice is good enough, the high notes at the climax of 'Return to the Night' can shatter glass. I wanted to try it and see if it was a legend." She looked at the crack now running up the side of the wine-glass. "I think it's kind of exciting that it's true!"

Lillet sighed.

"Amoretta, I love you, but sometimes..."

"What is it?"

"You're a homunculus, remember? Your life is contained in your flask."

"I know that."

"Well, I don't think you should play around with resonance frequencies in the house when your life depends on keeping something _made of glass_ from breaking!"

~X X X~

_A/N: Hopefully, the readers will ignore the physics issues in favor of chuckling!_


	16. Digging Themselves in Deeper

_A/N: Usually, I come up with fic ideas in the shower, but this one was the product of some brainstorming between myself and my wife (known online as Tarma Hartley) as we were driving home from a bar association meeting I'd been attending. Thanks for the help, sweetheart!_

~X X X~

A chill, stiff breeze whistled through the dreary autumn night, rustling the fading leaves still clinging to the trees and driving the clouds scudding across the night sky, so that even the tiny sliver of gleaming moon was cloaked from view. Caught by the wind, those leaves that had already fallen to the side yard of the stately manor on Argentine Way leapt up from the ground, swirling like animated things seeking revenge against the one whose feet crisped their brethren underfoot.

It was the kind of night where even an elf of status and respect could shiver at the constantly-shifting shadows and the howling of the wind in the angles of the mansion walls. Gaff had seen amazing things in his service to magicians, first at the Silver Star Tower and then with Lillet Blan as she rose from apprentice to Royal Magician to Mage Consul. Amazing and occasionally fearful things. Devils wrested from the depths of hell, creations of alchemy that were no part of the natural order, and the spirits of the dead called back from beyond the grave.

It was a lot less...comfortable...imagining such things out here, in the night, in the darkness, lurking beyond his vision.

Considerably less comfortable.

"I should have brought a lantern," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't going back to the house for one, though. It wasn't _quite_ dark enough that he couldn't see outlines around him or know where he was going, so if he did go back the "it's too dark" excuse wouldn't work very well and there was a good chance other servants would think he was scared to be out in the night.

Admitting affection had never been easy for the elf, but as for _fear—_well, short of Lujei Piche or Archmage Calvaros popping up right in front of him, he'd rather have cut off his hand than admitted to _that_! Besides, he'd told Marté the garden elf he'd go out and find the bucket she'd left by the outside well pump and she was rather cute. An elf didn't _only_ have to think of work, after all.

The pump was just up ahead and Gaff took a couple of quick steps towards it. Suddenly the wind whipped up again, its whistle almost like a scream, and a flying leaf brushed his cheek. Startled, he gave a cry (A yell! A _manly_ yell! Definitely _not_ a squeal like a frightened little girl!) and leapt aside, away from the touch.

Suddenly, the ground seemed to yawn open beneath him and he found himself plunging, falling into the open embrace of the darkness below.

~X X X~

"Just then, Ichabod thought he heard something. A low, dull, rustling sound, like sand crumbling down a dune. His heart in his throat, he turned, and aimed the beam of his dark-lantern in the direction of the noise."

Lillet Blan was a good storyteller. She had a knack for pacing, tone, and voice when she was telling a tale that helped bring it to life for the listener. It didn't seem to matter whether it was something she was telling from memory or, as in the present instance, reading from a book.

Cressidor Blan-Virgine, despite being at the terribly mature age of seven, certainly was a shameless enthusiast for storytime with Mama. Indeed, she was such a fan that she'd specially asked for a story despite that she was having a sleepover with her two best friends, Marcia Tempranillo and Jenny Smithwick. The girls weren't the only ones there for the story, either. Cress's other mother, Amoretta Virgine, was snuggled up on the couch with Lillet, head on her beloved's shoulder while she listened. Cress thought it was kind of embarrassing when her mothers were all lovey-dovey together like that, but it was pretty much a fact of life. Even Grimalkin was curled at the far end of the couch for the event.

The three girls were sitting on the library rug, listening intently, cups of hot mulled cider in their hands while the wind whistled in the chimney and made the fire in the fireplace crackle and pop. Cress was very glad, she decided, that her puppy was a large breed. Shuck the barghest was lying sphinx-fashion behind them, while the girls were leaning up against his side. A warm, fuzzy dog was very reassuring during a scary story!

"The light fell directly upon the grave of the old miser. Ichabod's blood seemed frozen in his veins; he could only stare as the dirt shifted and crumbled, bulging up as if pushed from beneath. As he watched, the soil broke and gave way, and a dead white hand thrust upwards, cracked and broken nails clawing at the air. Another hand crawled into view, and this one dug into the ground, pulling in spasming, jerking movements, and before the terrified clerk's eyes a hideous figure, crusted with grave-earth, ripped itself free from the ground! Only then did sheer panic break the spell that horror had placed on him, and he—"

Before Lillet could describe how Ichabod had screamed, Jenny provided the real thing. A moment later, Cress was gasping and pointing and Marcia squealing and clinging to Shuck's fur. Alerted by the girls' fear, the barghest had leapt to his feet, red eyes ablaze with demonic fire, glaring at the figure that had appeared at the library door behind Lillet. It was all but covered in wet soil as if it, too, had just pulled itself out from where it had been buried in the earth.

Shuck had at once placed his huge, black-furred body between the girls and the thing. His lips curled back from fangs that meant Serious Business, and the rumbling growl from deep in his throat was like rocks being crushed to powder. He might just have been a puppy (if nearly full-grown), but he was definitely not going to let strange things scare Cress and her friends!

"Enough!" Lillet snapped, slamming the book shut with a noise like a thunderclap to make her point. "Shuck, _sit._ Girls, it's all right, it's just Gaff."

"It is?" Cress blinked. Shuck had sat down at once, wise puppies knowing they'd better obey when the Mage Consul used That Tone. He sniffed experimentally at the word "Gaff" and was surprised to note the scent of the one he thought of as Small Fussy Green Person coming from the mud-caked figure.

"As for you, Gaff, why are you bursting in here like that and scaring people? You knew I was reading the girls a ghost story; you should have known better. And I'd have thought you'd be the last person to track dirt through the house like that."

"I'm covered in dirt because I had to climb out of one of the pits _that_ one dug!" He pointed dramatically at Shuck. "I went out to the well pump to fetch in a bucket Marté had left and the next thing I knew, I was crawling out of a hole!"

Shuck dipped his head with a little mewling sound. This time, though, it was Cress who leapt to _his_ defense.

"But Shuck's _allowed_ to dig in the side yard!" she cried, jumping to her feet and wrapping a protective arm around his back. "That's what you said, isn't it, Mama?"

Lillet nodded.

"It is. If you want to be angry at someone, Gaff, you should be angry at the garden staff. It's their job to fill in holes so no one gets hurt."

"See, Shuck? Mama says you're a good boy!"

The barghest wagged, thumping his tail on the carpet.

"It's very dark out," Amoretta observed curiously. "Why didn't you take a lantern, Gaff?"

The elven majordomo drew himself up with as much hauteur as he could manage while looking like a mole after a tunnel collapse. "Well, I'd like to think I can walk around my own garden without needing a light."

Grimalkin yawned.

"'Tis true, then, that pride goeth before a fall."


	17. Putting on the Dog

_A/N: I know that I generally post these stories on the first of the month, but here's a special story for the season. Happy Halloween!_

~X X X~

"Okay, now you just stand right here, Shuck."

Shuck gave Cressidor Blan-Virgine an apprehensive look. He was a not-quite-fully-grown barghest, meaning that he could just barely rest his chin on the seven-year-old's head without stretching, with blazing red eyes and flames flicking along the tongue that lolled from his fanged, wolflike muzzle, but he had the instinct of any dog who realizes that he's probably not going to like what comes next.

Face intent, Cress pushed a stepladder up to her pet's side. She bit her lip as she considered having Shuck lie down, instead, but decided that this way was better, because she'd need to get to his belly and legs, too. Picking up the sack of flour, she started to climb. Unfortunately, she soon found that the sack was too big to handle while keeping her balance on the ladder. She tottered, gasping, and then dropped the sack so she could reach out to grab hold of Shuck. It was too late, though—she was already falling, and she squealed in fright as her hands flailed helplessly, missing everything.

The barghest's head whipped around and his massive jaws snapped shut with a speed that would put striking snakes to shame. Flour exploded everywhere when the sack burst open upon hitting the stone floor; Cress's apron did little good to keep her clothes clean. The apron did help in other ways, though, because Shuck had caught the strings between his teeth, holding Cress about a foot off the floor.

"May I ask what, precisely, is the meaning of this?"

Many a child has lamented the fact that his or her mother had a sixth sense, enabling them to show up just when it was too late to stay out of trouble but before it was possible to hide the evidence. Cress had two mothers, so she was completely out of luck.

"Shuck caught me when I fell, Mother!" Cress tried to accentuate the positive.

Amoretta Virgine walked into the pantry amid a settling cloud of flour. Shuck lowered Cress to the floor and bent his head to receive a congratulatory scratch behind the ears from the homunculus.

"Well, good for you, then, Shuck," she said. "I'm glad that you were there to protect Cress. Very good boy!"

He wagged his tail enthusiastically, sending flour swirling this way and that.

"Now, Cressidor, please tell me why it was you were climbing ladders while alone in the pantry and where all this flour came from?" Amoretta's tone of voice changed substantially. "Especially since I thought that you were looking forward to trick-or-treating, so you ought to be changing into your costume."

"I was getting into my costume!" Cress protested.

Amoretta didn't answer, but just gave her the dreaded "Mom stare."

"I was!" Cress insisted. She knew how her mother felt about lying, after all. She hadn't needed to experience it to believe that she'd get in a lot more trouble for lying about something than she would for doing it—almost regardless of what she'd actually done.

"Explain, then."

"I'm going to be a Valkyrie for Hallow's Eve, right?" They had made the costume, complete with winged armor, based on an illustration in a book about Lusatian pagan myths. "Well, in the stories, it says that Valkyries rode giant hoary wolves into battle. So I thought I'd ride Shuck! He's big enough to carry me, and he looks a lot like a wolf! But I didn't know what 'hoary' meant, so I looked it up, and it meant gray or white, and he's black. So, I wanted to cover him with flour, and then he'd be the right color!"

"So why didn't you ask one of the kitchen servants to help you with this, instead of trying to carry a sack that's too heavy for you to handle up a ladder?"

"I—"

"Because you knew that it was something you shouldn't be doing without asking Lillet or me first," Amoretta finished for her. "What if Shuck got scared, or went chasing after something, and you fell off him? Or if he thought you were in trouble and bit someone? He's only a puppy, after all. It's a lot to ask that he be on his best behavior all night, with all the strange sights and the noise and the people." She stroked the dog's flank gently. He was a bit more intelligent than a normal dog, and Amoretta didn't want him to think _he_ was being criticized.

Cross hung her head.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I just thought it would be neat."

"I know, but you need to think things through, and listen when your conscience tells you that something's wrong. Now, you've wasted half a sack of good flour, made a mess, gotten Shuck and yourself all dusty, nearly hurt yourself, and are going to be late joining your friends for trick-or-treating."

"I'm really sorry. I'll clean it up!"

"No, you'll go upstairs and we'll see to getting you cleaned up and dressed so you don't miss trick-or-treating entirely. We'll have one of the kitchen-maids clean up here, and then tomorrow your punishment can be to do some of her work to make up for the time she spends cleaning up after you. I think there will be plenty of dishes for you to wash."

"Yes, Mother," Cress sighed.

"And in the meantime, you can think about how you're going to apologize to your pet."

"Apologize to Shuck? For what?"

Amoretta looked over at Shuck again.

"For making it so he has to have a bath _right now_, because I am not going to let him track flour all over the rugs."

Shuck ducked his head and whimpered again.

~X X X~

_A/N: The title is a slang term for dressing up for a formal/fancy event...which is not _quite_ the point of Halloween, but close enough for a gag story, methinks! Incidentally, for the physics-inclined among the readership, I'd like to point out that Shuck's flaming tongue is a matter of appearance only, not a source of heat unless he actually uses his fire breath...which is a good thing in a flour-saturated atmosphere._


	18. Some Things Are Plain to See

_A/N: Usually I post stories in the morning, but...work has been killing me lately. So, this month's ToEO entry is coming late..._

~X X X~

Tahlea Grande reached up and plucked the heavy, leather-bound book off Dr. Chartreuse's bookshelf.

"Wow, that looks like it weighs a ton."

Tahlea turned and smiled at the fairy hovering beside her.

"It's one of the more useful things about having human-sized arms."

"Only if you _want_ to read it in the first place. What are you up to anyway, Tahlea?"

"It's Arkham's _Meditations on the Natural Law_. Father says that I need to read it before I can start my advanced instruction in alchemy." She paused, then added in as passable an imitation as she could of Dr. Chartreuse's deep, rich voice, "'I realize that the material may not be the most compelling, but Arkham speaks to important truths that all we who experiment with God's laws must consider.' I glanced at it before, but the writer's style is so _boring_."

"Are you sure that a guy who'd take a fairy's spirit and use it as the core of a homunculus is the best person to be lecturing anyone on alchemical ethics?"

"It was my spirit, Hibi."

Tahlea didn't actually have any memories of her life as a fairy, but she'd apparently been rather unusual for her kind, delving into the intricacies of magical research that were ordinarily only the province of humans. That had been why she'd volunteered to let herself become what she was now, a creature of alchemy, a life created by the artificial manipulation of the natural laws.

"Which makes you two equally crazy, to my mind."

Tahlea grinned impishly.

"Like father, like daughter?"

The fairy rolled her eyes. Hibiscus had (apparently) been Tahlea's friend in her previous life and had decided that wasn't going to change. As she'd put it, "Hey, if I thought submitting yourself to unnatural magical lunacy was a reason to abandon someone, I'd have dropped this friendship years ago, because anyone could see you were going to do something crazy like this sooner or later."

"Anyway, the book wasn't actually what I was asking about."

"Huh? I thought—"

Hibiscus shook her head.

"What I meant was, what are you doing in here when you're supposed to be administering a test for the aspirants?"

Ideally, students were supposed to learn the basics of magic theory at the Magical Society before coming to the Silver Star Tower, but that wasn't always possible for those with certain backgrounds or from parts of the kingdom where Society branches weren't common. For those, Gammel Dore had instituted a series of basic classes to get them up to speed before beginning study as a proper apprentice.

"I am! They're taking it right now," Tahlea protested.

"And isn't part of the job to make sure that they each do their own work and don't cheat?"

"Uh-huh."

"So how do you do that if they're in _there_ and you're in _here_?"

"Well, that's easy; I just—" She stopped and blinked. "Eek, I got distracted talking to you. Come on!"

Tucking her book under her arm, she rushed out of the room, Hibi flitting in her wake, then down the hall and into the classroom where five teenagers were sitting, scribbling away at their test papers.

"O'Doul!" she called out, and a freckle-faced boy's head snapped up. "Come with me."

"What? Why?"

"Hibi, would you please get what's inside his left sleeve?"

"Since when did I become your assistant?" Hibiscus groused, but flitted off right away. O'Doul tried to pull his hand back, but he was no match for the fairy's speed; she pulled out a curl of papers the boy had tucked into his sleeve.

"Wow, your handwriting's worse than Tahlea's. What's the point of cheat sheets you can't even read?"

"This is a very serious incident, young man," Tahlea said. "Come with me; Professor Gammel will have to decide what he wants to do about this." She turned on her heel and marched out of the room, the sullen-faced boy shuffling in her wake.

"But Tahlea," Hibiscus asked, flying along beside her, "how did you know?"

"I'm a homunculus now," she said brightly. "I may not be able to do human magic like my big sister, but I do have a homunculus's powers. Clairvoyance is our most basic ability, you know."

Hibiscus shook her head in disbelief. "Man, Tahlea, I pity any kids you ever have. Most moms have eyes in the back of their head, but one that has eyes in completely different rooms is just too much."

~X X X~

_A/N: This story was spawned due to the fine folks at "Exiled to the Couch." In the thread there about "Dear Tahlea," I'd made an offhand remark about Tahlea having a snarky fairy friend. Several of the others picked it up and ran with it...and I promptly forgot I was the one who'd made the comment in the first place. When I got over the blushing when they reminded me, I decided to go ahead and use her properly in an omake! As you probably guessed, this story takes place at least some months after "The Making of a Family." I thought a flower name sounded good for a fairy, and hibiscus flowers can be made into wine. As for O'Doul, I figure a brand of non-alcoholic beer fits a cheat!_


	19. Not Everyone Finds It Fetching

"Are you sure this is safe?" stammered Miss Eliza Livingston, dubiously eying Cressidor Blan-Virgine's dog. Miss Livingston was the governess for the Tempranillo children, including their youngest, Marcia, who'd come over to the Blan-Virgine house to play.

"Don't you like dogs, Miss Lizzy?" Marcia asked, concerned.

"Of course it's safe!" Cressidor chimed in. "Shuck's a good boy! He's very well-trained!"

The dog in question woofed and wagged his tail, happy to receive praise from his mistress. The sound did little to calm Miss Livingston's nerves, since it was deep and rumbling as befit a creature that stood much taller than either eight-year-old and even the governess. Shuck was in fact fairly large even for a barghest, perhaps owing to a more nutritious diet in the Blan-Virgine kitchens than was found in the wasteland fringes of Hell where the Black Dogs were native to.

Cress gave her pet a pat on the shoulder with a mittened hand. He always got a little depressed when people didn't like him. Reassured by the contact, he gave her a doggy grin, tongue lolling. Miss Livingston didn't seem comforted by his friendly face, though. Maybe it was the little flames licking up and down the length of the tongue. Steam rose from his jaws in the cold winter air.

_At least Marcia likes him,_ Cress thought. _That's what's important._

Dismissing the governess as a lost cause, Marcia turned back to Cress and Shuck.

"You said that he plays fetch, didn't you?"

"Mm-hm! Did you want to play?"

"Uh-huh! Louis's spaniel won't retrieve the stick after he goes and gets it, so this'll be fun!"

"Okay, I'll get his stick."

Cress turned and found an eighteen-inch length of metal rod, dented and scratched by past games. Gripping it in both hands, she spun herself around twice to add momentum and let go, sending it arcing into the garden with a cry of "Fetch the stick, Shuck!"

The rod plunged into a snowbank as Shuck went bounding after it, kicking up a shower of snow in his wake. He followed his stick's flight easily, since Cressidor couldn't throw it all that far, but soon got in trouble as he dug around in the loose, powdery snow, because the rod's weight and his own strength made it shift around in the pile, getting deeper and deeper. He backed out and turned back to Cressidor, making the girls giggle at his snow-covered face and chest.

"It's okay," Cress answered the questioning look in his fiery eyes.

With proper permission gained, Shuck turned back to the snowdrift, inhaled deeply, and then breathed out a stream of flame that boiled a wedge-shaped chunk of the snow away to steam. He plucked the revealed stick from where it lay and trotted back, wagging.

"Good boy!" Cressidor praised him when he dropped the rod at her feet. Marcia clapped happily.

"Can I try next?"

"Sure. We'll take turns."

"Do you want to play, too, Miss Lizzy?" Marcia invited politely. Since she turned her head to ask, she was in time to see Miss Livingston's eyes roll up in her head and the governess crumple into a snowdrift in a dead faint. "Miss Lizzy!"

"Mama says that some people are just scared of dogs," Cressidor remarked sadly.


	20. Praise Can Be Fleeting

"Eeeeek!" Cressidor Blan-Virgine screamed like a little girl. Of course, as she reminded herself later, she _was_ a little girl of eight, so it was probably acceptable for her to react like one. But she still felt somehow guilty. After all, she was the daughter of Mage Consul Lillet Blan, and her home life included such things as dragons in the stables, elven servants, attack rosebushes lining the garden wall, and for that matter a second mother who was a homunculus. Cress felt that it was somehow beneath her dignity to scream just because there was a two-foot-tall bug staring at her from its weirdly faceted eyes, legs twitching beneath it as if to spring, mouth parts moving ominously...

To heck with dignity. She screamed again.

In the next instant, a giant black streak exploded past her. Razor-fanged jaws snapped down on the bug, catching it in mid-jump. Teeth sheared through the rounded shell, piercing chitin effortlessly, and the bug fell to the library carpet in two roughly equal-sized chunks.

"Shuck! Good, good, _good_ boy!" Cressidor caroled out and flung her arms around the huge barghest. Sometimes, it was very useful to have a pet dog was over five feet tall at the shoulder! Shuck wagged his tail enthusiastically, even while his muzzle was making weird scrunchy faces. Apparently, giant bug tasted _really_ bad. He finally let a fireball bloom up in his mouth, burning the icky goop away.

"Would somebody please tell me what's going on here?" At first Cress thought the elven majordomo was talking about the screaming and growling (and the bug innards on the carpet), but soon realized that he had his own issues, fighting off another giant bug with a long-handled broom as he retreated into the library. "These things are all over the place!"

"Shuck! Breathe fire!" Cress ordered, pointing at the new bug. Growling, Shuck crouched down on his haunches as if about to spring, then thrust his head forward and exhaled. He had good aim; a ball of flames shot out and turned the monster bug into flambé.

"Gaff, do you know what these bugs are?" Cress asked.

"Not a clue." The elf used the broom to beat the flaming corpse out, just in case the fireproofing wards didn't hold. "Maybe one of your mother's experiments got out of the lab?"

"Excuse me!" The voice from behind them definitely sounded offended. Cressidor and Gaff both turned to see the Mage Consul emerging _from_ the laboratory door on the far side of the library. "What's going on? I could hear the huge ruckus even in there."

"The place is infested with giant bugs!" Gaff complained. "There's at least two dozen of the things hopping around!"

"Two dozen!" squeaked Cress, and snugged up even closer to Shuck.

"Show me." Lillet marched right over to the one Shuck had bitten in two and crouched down. She looked it for about two minutes, her expression fixed in her "thinking hard" face, the one Cress knew not to interrupt even when there weren't giant bugs running around the house. "All right," Lillet concluded, then stood up and took out her wand. "I think this should handle it."

She began sketching a pattern on the floor with the tip of her wand, each stroke leaving a stream of pale blue light in its wake. Cressidor recognized the color as that associated with Necromancy, the magic of the dead. It took just under another two minutes for Lillet to finish crafting the Rune; she then held her hand up and the Rune's light blazed up brightly, the faint images of skeletal hands that seemed to dance above it grasping and clutching with frantic speed. The light dimmed after another minute, and Lillet snapped her fingers. A wave of blue light surged outwards from the Rune in a hemisphere; Cress shivered with sudden cold as it passed through her and Shuck whimpered—as a creature of Sorcery, the barghest did not like necromantic magic.

Lillet let out a deep sigh.

"There; that should solve the problem."

"Are you okay, Mama?" Cress asked. Beads of sweat were standing out on Lillet's forehead, like she'd been working outside in the hot sun.

"I'm fine, darling. I just had to push a lot of extra mana into the Rune to boost its effectiveness, and I did it faster than I normally would have so no one would get hurt during the delay. So I'm a little tired." She wiped her forehead with a handkerchief.

"I've seen that Rune before, Lillet," Gaff said. "Isn't that the one you use to keep the house vermin-free?"

"Um-hm. It just takes a little extra push to deal with giant ones. Okay, a large extra push," she amended that as she wobbled a little. Cressidor had the feeling that this was one of those things that not many magicians could have actually done. Exterminating dozens of monster bugs over a large area in one shot using a household charm was, the more she thought about it, pretty amazing.

Plus, well, giant bugs were _scary_, and her mother had made them go away.

"That was incredible, Mama!" she decided to express that, hugging Lillet around the waist.

"Thanks, Cress," Lillet snaked an arm around her daughter and hugged back. "Gaff, why don't you check and see if anybody got hurt? Come get me if it's anything that you elves can't handle alone."

"I will. And then," he grumbled, "it'll be time to clean up. Again."

He left the library, and Lillet dropped into one of the comfortable reading chairs.

"Shuck was really amazing too, Mama!" Cress continued giving credit where it was due. "He saved me from that one bug, and then he burnt the other one that Gaff was fighting! Oh, I did tell him to breathe fire," she said at once, since that was very high on the list of things Shuck wasn't supposed to do unless told to.

"Well, it's good to see him taking responsibility."

"Mama?" Cress asked. Shuck seemed to find the statement equally confusing; he made a confused little noise that sounded kind of like a whine mixed with a howl.

"I guess you didn't recognize those bugs, then? They were really big, but otherwise they were ordinary fleas."

"Fleas?"

"Fleas that have been drinking the blood of an otherworldly creature of chaos, and so been affected by the magic in his blood."

Shuck scratched at his right front shoulder with his hind leg.

"Shuck has _fleas_?" Cress said, wrinkling her nose. She was a basically clean girl, who found the idea of little bugs nesting in her dog's fur rather disgusting. Especially when they grew to extra-large size.

"Not any more. The Rune would have destroyed any little ones along with the giant ones. But yes, he did."

"But how did he _get_ fleas, Mama?"

"My best guess? Sneaking out over the garden wall to go play with the Molsons' wolfhound again. Their stables are a disgrace."

"Shuck! You know you're not supposed to go out on your own!"

"Of course, this is why I put a mild enchantment on the animal soap, to keep vermin off them for a few weeks after a bath," Lillet went on. "So, since I doubt anyone has been casting any dispelling magic at Shuck, I have to wonder just how it is that the protection failed. There don't appear to be any problems with the horses or dragons, so the enchantment looks to have been potent."

Cress squirmed.

"Unless, of course, the person whose responsibility it is to give Shuck his baths fell victim to his pitiful puppy-dog eyes and didn't wash him, hm?" her mother said pointedly.

The girl looked at her pet, and two heads drooped.

"We're in trouble."

Shuck whimpered.

"An exotic pet is a lot more work than an ordinary domestic animal," Lillet said. "Even if, admittedly, a plague of giant fleas is a little bit outside the expected range of problems."


	21. Her Essential Alchemy

_A/N: This omake was inspired by a piece of fanart by yuiseppe, posted in the fanart thread at "Exiled to the Couch" at AnimeSuki. Yui's done several pieces of fanart based on my _GrimGrimoire_ as well as _My-HiME_ stories, so now I get to return the favor! Originally, I had a line in here about how I hoped that others would take up deathcurse's challenge to write a fic based on the picture, but instead I'm the last one of the four people who did to actually post their challenge at , thanks to having a schedule for these things (and the fact that I like to alternate Cressidor stories with non-Cress stories in this collection of omake)._

~X X X~

Generally speaking, one does not often find fairies in an Alchemy laboratory. They were, like all the fey races, creatures steeped in the magic of Glamour—the magical expression of nature as it existed—and the way in which Alchemy bent and manipulated the natural laws to its own ends was imnical to them. Even if that Alchemy was not actually being directed _at_ them, Glamour was so much a part of a fairy's fundamental nature that they were often disturbed by sufficient Alchemy's mere presence.

At least Hibiscus could console herself that she wasn't the most insane fairy present. Sure, she did often hang around Dr. Chartreuse's research lab, but that was out of friendship, not desire. The friend in question, though, was actually interested in studying and practicing the stuff. Tahlea had even been so enthusiastic about the field that she'd volunteered to let Dr. Chartreuse use her spirit as the core of a homunculus! Weird enough that a fairy would get involved in alchemical research, but to turn herself into an _experiment_!?

Tahlea was busy at one of the lab tables when Hibiscus flittered into the lab. She had to admit that her friend looked the part well enough, with an expression of intense concentration as she combined various reagents in a large beaker. With her shoulder-length blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way of her work and the protective gear covering her tunic and hose, all she needed was a pair of spectacles to complete the stereotypical image.

Hibiscus waited until Tahlea's hands were empty before making her presence known. She had a considerable respect for what accidental spills could do.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Oh! Hi, Hibi; I didn't see you come in. Hey, that's a new hat, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh. I brought it over to show you." Fairies didn't wear hats all that often, a side effect of doing most of their moving around in the air, but they occasionally made an exception for fashion's sake.

"It looks kind of elfy."

"Yeah, it's the same basic style, but with the brim turned-up at the bottom." That formed a broad strip of brown around the base of the hat which made a nicely contrasting border between the brighter colors of Hibiscus's gold hair and the green of the conical hat.

"I like it. It's kind of, you know, like you're getting back to our roots. Especially since you've got leggings and boots on—it's kind of a traditional look, though that last part's probably just because it's winter."

Hibiscus couldn't help but chuckle.

"What's funny?"

"Hearing you praise 'traditional' as a fashion statement."

"Did I not like it before?" One of the side effects of becoming a homunculus was that Tahlea had no memories from her life as a fairy, even though the majority of her personality was the same, especially as she got more used to her new existence.

"Well, not really, but it's more hearing traditional fairy fashion praised by someone so avant-garde she got an entirely new _body_."

"Hey, this isn't a fashion statement. I became a homunculus purely in the name of pushing the frontiers of magical knowledge!"

"And if you don't wear one of your sister's hand-me-down outfits to the reception next week for all those cute human nobles, I'll believe you." Tahlea's blush suggested that she had indeed planned on wearing one of Amoretta Virgine's rather...eye-catching...outfits to the party in question. "Uh-huh. Thought so. So anyway," Hibiscus changed the subject to save Tahlea the potential embarrassment of an explanation, "what's Dr. Chartreuse got you doing now?"

"Oh, he's just got me keeping an eye on the golems in the next room while he's in a meeting with Professor Gammel. Father wants to use them in his next class so he prepared them ahead of time, but didn't want to leave them alone while he was out. Once in a while, you see, they can start running amok; their control functions are kind of delicate."

"Kind of like us fairies, a little bit. Wait, are you using that homunculus clairvoyance to look in on them?"

"Uh-huh. I wanted to see if I could take the next step in that experiment Father was showing me yesterday, so I thought I could work in here while still keeping an eye on them in there."

"Uh-huh. And is that next step supposed to bubble like that?"

"Eh?" Tahlea looked down at the beaker. "Oh, that's not good."

In approximately two seconds "not good" turned to "quite bad" as the reagent mix was consumed in a violent reaction. Glass shattered, thankfully mostly falling apart in large chunks instead of turning into a spray of high-velocity shrapnel, while a cloud of black smoke burst out and swallowed the onlookers. Hibiscus barely grabbed onto the brim of her hat in time to keep it from being knocked off by the rushing air.

The smoke cloud cleared remarkably fast; it was entirely possible that Dr. Chartreuse had protective Runes set up in advance to clean up common "side effects" of research mishaps. Unfortunately, that didn't do much for their now soot-stained clothing.

"Tahlea..." Hibiscus growled at her friend.

The homunculus grinned broadly back at her, an expression (often plastered on the very same smoke-smudged, surrounded-by-a-cloud-of-tousled-hair face) Hibiscus knew well from Tahlea's fairy lifetime.

"The path to advancing our knowledge is often littered with many missteps, from which we often learn more than from our successes!"

"Then allow me to contribute to your learning something that you already would have known if you still had your memories. Which is, that _you suck at multitasking_!"


	22. Throw the Black Dog a Bone

Generally speaking, Shuck was a well-trained dog.

This tended to come as a surprise to people meeting him for the first time. Barghests were not widely known to be obedient house pets. They were, rather, more associated with legends of Black Dogs that roamed lonely moors by the dark of the moon, their blazing red eyes and terrifying howl a presage of violent death. Typically, one did not expect passerby to stop and say, "Who's a good boy, Shuck? Who's a good boy?" and offer a skritch behind the ears, causing a flaming tongue to loll from his mouth in a doggy grin while his tail thumped on the floor.

The Royal House of Magic, though, was not an ordinary place. The magicians and apprentices scurrying by did not all recognize the pet of Mage Consul Lillet Blan's eight-year-old daughter, but even the majority who did not know him weren't inclined to stop and stare. Seeing a sorcerous beast who stood nearly six feet high at the shoulder lying peacefully in a nook, they were much more likely to think, "Huh, someone's familiar" than "Giant monster in the palace!"

Observational context meant a lot that way.

Being a well-behaved dog, Shuck was generally inclined to follow his mistress's orders. Cressidor Blan-Virgine had told him, "Now you stay here while I go find Mama," and Shuck had every indication of doing just that. He'd have much preferred to follow along, as in typical dog fashion he'd rather be with his people whenever he could, but he understood that it was his job to follow directions. And he'd detected the scent of pork jerky from Cress's pocket that morning, suggesting that there could be treats if she was happy with his behavior!

Besides, if he left the Royal House of Magic, people in other parts of the palace tended to be more...excitable than magicians. Like most sociable animals, Shuck got a little depressed when people didn't like him. And screaming was hard on his sensitive ears.

Still, in a place with so many people, filled with so many unusual sounds and smells, it was hard for Shuck to fully relax. Just then, for example, a strange click-clack noise from the stone-flagged corridor caused him to prick his ears up. A moment later, what appeared to be a skeletal hand walked by, its fingers moving on their own like the legs of a crab.

Mmm, crab...

Thoughts of seafood distracted Shuck from the odd sight, and he settled his head back down between his front paws. He was just relaxing into a happy contemplation of last night's dinner, during which Cress had kept slipping him tidbits under the table, when more clicking noises disturbed his pleasant reverie. Shuck looked up again and saw what seemed to be a very large leg bone, perhaps from a cow or horse, flipping end over end down the corridor.

He blinked. This was, to his experience, a rather odd thing for a bone to do. In point of fact, it was fairly unusual in his experience for bones to _do_ anything other than taste good unless they were accompanied by that scary pale light that made him want to hide behind the bed, but when one spends one's life in the kind of household that keeps a barghest as a child's pet, well, a dog learns to expand his expectations of "normal." Even so, ambulatory bones seemed a trifle odd.

Nonetheless, Shuck was a well-behaved dog (pork jerky!) and he settled back down again, only to once again hear the clickety-clack of bone on the corridor flagstones. This time, it was two sets of arm-bones, each set somehow connected at the elbow despite there being no sign of wire or connective tissue holding them together. The arms moved along like a pair of inchworms, bending up and flattening out. Just then, an apprentice and an elf came by from the other way, and paused in their chatting when they saw the arms. They watched the bones move by, then glanced at each other, shrugged, and kept on walking, continuing their discussion. It seemed that, while unusual, such an event was not enough to catch more than a moment's attention.

At least it wasn't giant fleas again. He gave a little shiver at the memory; they'd tasted bad! And Cress had gotten scolded for not giving him his flea bath! And he'd had to go take that bath! Sometimes, it was a truly a dog's life being a dog...

Once again the click-clack of animated bones broke up Shuck's descent into memories, though this time it was a welcome relief.

This bone was a ribcage, the sternum in place but with no sign of a spine. This left one end of each rib unattached to anything and it was on these empty tips that it walked along, like some monstrous arachnid with far too many legs.

Shuck whimpered. This was just getting too strange! One or two such odd events was within the kind of thing he might expect in daily life, but four? He wrestled with his doggy conscience, and after three solid minutes of a bitter internal conflict he rose to his feet. He knew he'd been told to stay, but...those were special circumstances! Surely this was one of those situations where the original command had been given in ignorance of the new events?

The clicking sounds had faded by this time, so as he started down the passageway he sniffed at the floor, following the dusty scent of the bones. He was happy that the scent did not carry with it the touch of that frightening pale light—that might well have convinced him that it was better for him to go back and lay down again. But he kept along, turning a corner and then another, passing a few people on the way.

A sudden crash and a strangled gasp made Shuck raise his head in surprise. Those were not good noises! He scurried ahead past a couple of closed doors and burst through an open one into a fairly large room, outfitted with benches, tables, and metal contraptions, several of which had open doors revealing burning flames. Indeed, the room much resembled the "Don't Go In Here, Shuck" room at home that his people called a laboratory. In the center of the room, one of the metal things had been knocked over, spilling coals out onto the stone floor. A robed human lay on his back next to it, unmoving.

The bones, meanwhile, were very much in evidence. In fact, they looked to have put themselves together with many others, for there was a positively gigantic skeleton on one side of the laboratory. It was at least eight or nine feet tall, basically looking human, but with legs that had an extra joint, feet that had splayed toes and claws like a bird, and a cow's elongated, horned skull but with jaws that sported reptilian fangs. The third arm attached to the top of its breastbone didn't seem any different from the normal two, except that its hand was squeezing the throat of an apprentice wearing ruby skirts.

It was the sort of scene where the plain facts were apparent even to the understanding of the family dog.

When Shuck hit the creature, he'd leapt up at it, forepaws striking the collarbones and using a quarter-ton or so of weight to knock it over, tearing it free from its victim. The skull-head turned on Shuck, pale yellow sparks in the depths of its empty eye sockets glaring balefully. Two sets of jaws snapped as the battle was joined in earnest.

~X X X~

"I know that nearly getting killed ought to be enough of a lesson, Master Freixenet, but in this case sterner measures need to be taken. Yes, there are wards and safeguards shielding the Royal House of Magic from the rest of the palace compound and yes, accidents will happen, particularly in Alchemy, but ignoring basic safety procedures because of 'should'ves' and 'ought tos' isn't acceptable. My daughter's dog isn't going to be around every day."

The head of the Royal Magicians nodded solemnly.

"I agree. Master Malbec will have to be sanctioned for this." He stroked his long, flowing gray beard with a spindly-fingered hand that looked a bit like a long-legged spider itself. "He endangered Miss Moët's life with his foolishness as well, which is even more unacceptable. One has a certain leeway to take risks for one's own ends, but not to involve others."

"So what was the problem, anyway?" Lillet Blan's professional interest rose up almost instantly after the administrative issue was dealt with.

"The bone golem did not properly respond to binding; it appears that the use of pre-existing organic matter to construct it, as opposed to minerals, interfered with the control functions. Master Malbec disassembled it, but the connection between the parts and the animating alchemic force was too strong to be severed by mere separation of the bones. Apparently, the components sought each other out and reassembled themselves, even more out of control."

"I see. Can you send me a copy of the full report? I'm interested in the specifics."

"Certainly. It was a fortunate thing that your daughter's barghest happened along when he did. As a creature of Sorcery, his magic was able to easily disrupt the alchemic power of the golem and render it permanently inert."

Shuck wagged his tail happily. He liked being a hero.

"Even so," the old wizard went on, "I am surprised that the golem inflicted so little damage upon him. The creatures are of relatively equal power; the mere magical advantage should not have made such a complete difference."

Lillet giggled.

"Master Freixenet, you're forgetting something. The interaction between the magic of Sorcery and Alchemy is nothing compared to the long and very one-sided history between dog and bone."


	23. A Homunculus Is Fine, Too! (Tahlea Side)

Tahlea Grande scowled down at the collection of alchemical equipment, at the blue fluid spiraling through the curved tube, at the bubbling amber reagent in the beaker over the flame, at the racks of test tubes, and at at the round-bottomed potion flask whose contents stubbornly remained pink.

"Why don't you add three drops of the red stuff?"

Tahlea glanced to her right, where the fairy Hibiscus sat. She didn't actually have a chair, just the rapid fanning of her dragonfly-like wings keeping her aloft, but her posture was somehow the same as if she had been sitting, one leg bent, the other crossed over her knee.

"Hibi, why would I do that?"

Hibiscus shrugged.

"Heck if I know. You just always add three drops of the red stuff when you get that scowl on your face."

Tahlea giggled. It was quite true that, like most fairies, Hibiscus had little interest in the mysteries of magical science, and especially not in alchemy, which was antithetical to the magic of glamour that made up so much of a fey creature's nature. Tahlea, on the other hand, had been so interested in such things that she'd willingly allowed Chartreuse Grande to use her soul as the core of an artificial body crafted _from_ alchemy.

As a new-made homunculus, Tahlea didn't have any memories of her past life, but it hadn't taken her friend's remarks to let her know that she'd been considered a bit eccentric among fairies.

Okay, maybe not "a bit." "Somewhat," perhaps. "A good deal," maybe. The modifying phrases might not even be necessary.

Actually, "stone crazy" covered it better than "eccentric" once they'd learned what she'd done.

"You know, now that you mention it..." she mused aloud, then took a pipette from the lab table. She drew some of the distilled essence of habaneristo from a test tube and let three drops fall into the beaker. A puff of smoke rose with a soft "whoomp" and the amber reagent turned a darker shade. Steam rose, was collected in the hood, flowed into the spiraling condenser, and dripped out the other end into the flask.

The liquid inside shimmered, and turned a watery olive green.

"It worked!" Tahlea cheered, clapping. "Thanks for the suggestion, Hibi!"

"Um, you're welcome?"

"This is the first time I've been able to get this to turn out right!" She could barely contain her excitement; successfully completing this experiment was Dr. Chartreuse's condition for moving on to the next lesson in alchemy.

"Ah, but I knew all along that two such fair ladies would surely succeed at whatever they try."

Tahlea and Hibiscus whirled around.

"Gah! You stupid dandy!" Hibi gasped. "You nearly scared me half to death!"

In all fairness, the newcomer didn't look like the dandy she'd named him. In fact, he looked like pretty much all male fairies, with a green kilt around his hips, lace-up sandals on his feet, and a leather sling across his bare torso to hold his sword on his back without interfering with his wings. And if his golden-blond hair was tousled _just so_ and he could occasionally be checking his fine-featured reflection in a mirror or forest pool when he thought no one was watching, well, the choice of insult still had more to do with his name being Dandylyon.

"Oh! Would that I have suffered a thousand cuts rather than bring a moment's discomfort to the most beautiful of fairy maids."

Tahlea blinked.

"Is he always like this?"

"Pretty much. Once in a while, it doesn't seem quite so crazy to me that you gave up your memory."

"Hibi, be nice," she said, but it was hard to sound chiding while suppressing a giggle.

"Anyway, Dan, you're completely wrong on all counts, since I'm not a maiden—and not interested in cheating on my husband—and as you might have noticed, Tahlea isn't a fairy."

Flitting over in front of Tahlea, Dandylyon let his eyes travel up and down her figure (which was, by human standards, fairly spectacular; Dr. Chartreuse was no more interested in romance than a rock but he did have a sense of aesthetics).

"Do you think I am so poor a creature as to be put off by something as inconsequential as species? A beautiful woman is a beautiful woman!"

Tahlea glanced at Hibiscus.

"In its way, that's almost noble."

"Yeah, in a backhanded, twisted-up, getting around to it sideways kind of way. Tell me you're not taking his blarney seriously, Tahlea."

"Oh, please, I may have sacrificed my memories to be reborn in a new, artificial life that's anathema to the very nature of my previous existence, but I'm not so much a fool as _that_."

Hibi smirked.

"Good one."

It was not, however, good enough for Dan, who hefted Tahlea's hand between his.

"My dear, please let me warm the cold and forlorn nights of the unnatural existence which traps you, and let your soul fly free with our shared passions."

"Um, no thank you, Dan." She could, after all, tell when someone loved her, and the feelings Dan was experiencing did not come precisely from the heart. "I don't really know a lot about that sort of thing, but speaking from a purely scientific standpoint...I think it's one of the areas where size does matter."

~X X X~

_A/N: A "habaneristo" is a variety of mandragora used in alchemy mixes in the Vanillaware game _Odin Sphere_, which is similarly awesome to _GrimGrimoire_. And like Hibi, Dan's name is based on a type of flower that wine can be made from, keeping my fairy naming pattern intact._


	24. It's Probably Mom's Job After All

Cressidor Blan-Virgine was a big girl.

At least, that was what the six-year-old told herself as she huddled beneath the sheets in her dark bedroom. Six years old was a lot! She was even taller than Gaff now, and he was a grown-up! Admittedly, he was also an elf, but even so it was still something. And big girls, she was quite sure, could solve their own problems without running to their mommies. Being self-sufficient was part of growing up.

Right?

She crawled to the edge of the bed and leaned way over, keeping a grip on one of the posts just in case she were to fall. Hitting her head on the floor definitely wouldn't be a good thing!

Carefully, she lowered herself down, her head dipping even further until her eyes came below the edge of the bed's frame. She peered into the deeper darkness below the bed, straining to see whatever she could. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, but it was still hard to make out anything. There were her slippers by the side of the bed...and then, she saw _it_. A hint of something. A deeper shadow in the darkness, forming an outline, a shape. _Something_.

Gritting her teeth with the effort, Cressidor managed to pull herself back up, getting back into the bed without falling out. But what was she supposed to do _now_?

There seemed to be only one remedy. Her friend Marcia had mentioned it once, so that meant she'd be acting on sound, reliable advice and not just guessing. Cress turned to the sovereign remedy used by children since time immemorial and pulled the covers up over her head. She remained like that as several long minutes ticked by.

It didn't work. The presence remained, filling her awareness, and she could not fall asleep.

This was serious!

Cressidor threw back the covers. She might be a big girl, but wasn't part of growing up knowing when you had a situation that you could not handle on your own? Big girls of six were supposed to show good judgment that little babies lacked, right?

These arguments firm in her mind, she reached for a silver bell that sat on her night-table and rang it twice.

~X X X~

"Lillet," Amoretta Virgine said as the bell mounted on a wall hook beside their bed rang.

"Mmmrmph?" was Lillet Blan's reply. Usually, the Mage Consul's comments were a bit more cogent and insightful, but then, she usually wasn't making those comments face-down on a pillow and half asleep after a long day of work in her laboratory.

"It's Cressidor."

Lillet raised her head and peered at her lover with unfocused eyes.

"Why can' you go see wha'is?" she managed a few recognizable words.

Amoretta did not look up from her book.

"Because it's your turn."

Lillet sighed and managed to push herself up to a sitting position in the bed.

"The next time I marry an angel, remind me to pick one who considers compassion to be a higher virtue than justice."

"All right." Amoretta turned a page.

Lillet gave up and laughed.

"I'm not going to win this, am I?"

"Of course not, dear." _Now_ Amoretta smiled, as Lillet started looking for her slippers.

~X X X~

It seemed like it had been an awfully long time before Lillet came into Cress's room, but Cress figured that she was tired and that might have messed up her perceptions, so she graciously decided not to mention it.

"What is it, Cress, honey? Is something wrong?"

"There's a monster under the bed, Mama!"

A lot of parents would have made reassuring noises or tried to convince their child that they were completely safe, that there was nothing lurking in the shadows but their imagination.

Lillet Blan was not most parents.

She knelt down, bent over, and said in a loud, sharp voice, "You! Come out of there right now!"

There was a kind of rustly-slithery noise, and a couple of scaled limbs extended from beneath the bed. Cressidor watched in fascination as the whole creature pulled itself out with obvious reluctance.

"What is it, Mama?"

"It's a cockatrice," Lillet said of the odd cross between a rooster and a lizard. "It must have gotten out of the secure room when they called me for dinner. But you don't need to be afraid, Cress; the wards I put on you would keep you safe from its petrifying touch, and they're not aggressive animals. They're natural burrowers, so I think it just wanted a quiet, dark place to sleep."

"I know _that_," Cressidor said. Did her mama still think she was a little girl who'd get scared of familiars? "But it was snoring so loudly I couldn't fall asleep, even with the covers over my head!"


	25. A Variety of Farm and Home Uses

"Is everybody ready?" Mrs. Smithwick asked the three eight-year-olds. They were about to set forth on a grand adventure and a childhood rite of passage (at least for well-to-do urban children), so it was important to make sure that they were ready. Proper preparation now was a parent's best weapon against being awakened at four in the morning by a child in need.

Three heads bobbed up and down eagerly.

"I have the snacks, and a waterskin," her daughter Jenny was the first to reply, holding up a small sack and the leather water-bag. She'd been made responsible for food since her kitchen was closest to the adventure site.

"I have books, cards, a game, and Emmy," Marcia Tempranillo said. She'd obviously been put in charge of the entertainment, for once the initial thrill of the expedition wore off. The presence of the doll was probably more of an emotional concern, but her friends did not question its inclusion.

"And you, Cress?" Mrs. Smithwick asked the third member of the group.

"I brought a shovel," said Cressidor Blan-Virgine," holding up a small spade. "And I have one of Mama's glowy balls." She held out a small glass sphere that shone with soft yellow light. "That way we'll be able to see. And Shuck's here, too!"

She patted the dog sitting next to her on his side and he gave a friendly wag, thumping his tail on the floor. This made a vase on one of the side tables rattle, because Shuck was, as Mrs. Smithwick understood it, large for his breed. Since that breed was "barghest" and normally ran to a quarter-ton of flame-tongued, red-eyed, demonic black hound, that was extremely large indeed. "Look down at Mrs. Smithwick" large.

The fact that he was nearly as protective of Cressidor's friends as he was of Cress herself was one reason why Mrs. Smithwick felt confident letting the girls stay out all night on her own.

Jenny's older brother, though, did not share that sentiment.

"What are you guys, scared to go out in the spooooky dark backyard without a dog to protect you?" he mocked.

"What do you think we are, babies?" Jenny shot back.

"Yeah! I'm only bringing him because Mama and Mother won't let me have a campfire." That was a definite rule for their expedition: no lit flames.

"So what's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, how else are we going to toast the marshmallows?"


	26. An Adult Should Be More Responsible

_A/N: This story is all deathcurse's fault. In her review for "Tome of Eldritch Omake" chapter 17, the Queen of Tragedy said that now we needed to see trick-or-treating. So...here we are (although as you can tell from all the girls being eight, this story is about the _next_ year's trick-or-treating, not the one from "Putting on the Dog")!_

~X X X~

"Now, everyone, stay together and on the path," said Eliza Livingston nervously, not in the least because the gargoyles perched on the gateposts seemed to be leering down at her with flame-filled eye sockets, the burning torches in their mouths ready to lash out and cook a meal of roast governess. Or maybe it was the way the wrought-iron gates swung open before the group on their own, instead of being opened by a porter the way they usually were. Or maybe it was the growling noise from off in the darkness that was _probably_ from the dragons in their stables. Probably. Or maybe it was—

Well, it could have been any number of things, really, about the Mage Consul's estate on Hallow's Eve that made Miss Livingston nervous.

"We _know_, Miss Lizzy," said her primary charge, Marcia Tempranillo, currently costumed as a fairy princess. "We visit here _all the time_." It was too dark to see if she actually rolled her eyes, but she put all the exasperation that a child of eight could muster with a tiresome situation into her tone. The three other neighborhood children made loud "Mm-hm"s of assent, ad they all scurried up the winding drive to a stately mansion. Jenny Smithwick scurried forward and hammered on the knocker. A tall, ash-blonde woman in the white linen bodice and kilt edged with hammered gold jewelry of a noble of the Ancient East opened the door to the group.

"Good evening, Miss Virgine," Jenny said. "Is Cress ready?"

Before Amoretta Virgine could answer, her daughter burst out from around the corner into the foyer.

"Hi, Jenny! Hi, Marcia! Hi, Erin! Hi, Marcel!" Cressidor Blan-Virgine squealed happily. Then, since she'd been raised to show good manners, she added, "Good evening, Miss Lizzy."

"That's a great costume, Cress," Marcia said, admiring her werewolf outfit.

"Thanks! Mama and I worked on it for hours. It took a long time to get the mouth right so I could talk, but she didn't think it'd be any fun to cheat and use magic." She grinned, showing the fangs her other mother was justly proud of making for her.

Meanwhile, Amoretta turned back into the house. "Lillet," she called, "Cress's friends are here, and we're going to get going." She'd agreed to go along with Miss Livingston to shepherd the kids with a second set of adult eyes.

"Oh, all right." Cress's other mother was dressed as a witch, not a particularly imaginative costume since that was what she actually was—indeed, as Mage Consul, she was the government minister in overall charge of magicians and magical practice in the kingdom. "Have fun, both of you." She bent and gave Cress and hug and kissed the top of her head, then proceeded to embarrass Cressidor awfully (and gave the other kids the giggles) by getting mushy with Amoretta with a tight embrace and a soft, lingering kiss on the lips. "I'll see you soon, little love, even if I am terribly jealous of you."

"You went with Cressidor last year," Amoretta refused to surrender happy motherhood memories by even an inch.

"Oh, fine, be _fair_ about it," Lillet said with a mock pout. "But before you go, isn't there one thing you're all forgetting?"

"Forgetting?" Cress and the other children looked at each other in confusion. "I don't think so..."

"Ah!" Marcia got it, clapping her hands. She turned to Lillet, held out her sack, and chanted, "Trick or treat!"

"Trick or treat!" the others immediately chorused.

There was a sound like a small herd of elephants rumbling over the floors, and Cress's dog responded to his cue by running through the foyer and up to the door. Shuck didn't really _need_ a Hallow's Eve costume, since the barghest was tall enough to put his chin flat on Lillet's head, with jet-black fur and burning red eyes. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that his massive jaws were delicately closed around the handle of a wicker basket from which protruded the sticks of Lillet's homemade caramel apples. The kids helped themselves eagerly, Cress's mother better known among them for her sweets than she was for her magic.

"Thanks, Shuck!" Marcia said, and patted the huge beast on the nose. He dropped the basket (thankfully caught by Lillet before the remaining apples spilled) and dragged his huge, flaming tongue across her face, making her giggle. As she mopped canine saliva with her sleeve, though, she heard a soft thump from behind her, and turned around to look.

"Miss Lizzy!" she wailed. "You'll get your costume all dirty if you faint in people's front walks."

"And we'll be late!" Cress added.

"I just don't understand people who don't like dogs!" Jenny summed up everyone's feelings.

~X X X~

_A/N: Surprisingly, caramel isn't even anachronistic for the approximate time period I use for the cultural/tech level of the setting. Really, it's kind of amazing, how many odd facts I learn by doing casual background research for these stories. And remember, the flaming tongue isn't literally on fire. Miss Lizzy really ought to remember that by now._


	27. Hair Today, Gone Not Soon Enough

Social calls were the bedrock of Court Society during the Season. Ladies, with a smattering of gentlemen, would go around to the houses of their various associates for gossip, to follow up on a flirtation from the night before, or just to acknowledge a relationship by sending in a card. Since different people would attend different events and entertainments, these morning calls served as a kind of after-action report between those who had different pieces of information so that by the time luncheon rolled around everyone who was anyone knew everything that had happened to anybody else.

The gossiping, tattlemongering, one-upmanship, and backbiting that went on at these calls was well-lubricated by coffee and tea, keeping the chatterers' whistles wet. This, however, could occasionally have unfortunate consequences. And so it was for the Baroness Carmenere, who found her call on the Mage Consul, Lillet Blan, interrupted by the need to use the necessary.

Quite frankly, the Baroness did not feel comfortable inside the Blan-Virgine household. The Mage Consul herself was a pleasant enough person, but the plain fact of it was that it was hard to feel at ease in the home of a woman who told the basic laws of reality to perform at whim like the troupe of performing seals that had appeared at the Marchioness of Livingston's latest wildly-overdone ball (sharing the details of which being Baroness Carmenere's reason for calling).

The fact that the maid who showed the Baroness the way to the room in question was an elf just seemed to drive home the point that she was in a house where dragons were stabled next to the horses, the little girl's dog was a fire-breathing beast the size of a pony, and the family members talked with the cat like it was a person. Sitting in the drawing room and chattering over tea with Lillet was one thing, but being alone in the washroom left her with a bad case of the shivers (even though the pitcher that refilled with warm, soapy water automatically was really very handy). It was actually reassuring to have the three-foot-tall figure in green skirts walking along at her side on the way back, which was a lowering feeling.

_You have to stop this, Rose,_ she told herself firmly. _You are a noblewoman of the kingdom. How can you be responsible for your estates and the people dependent on you if you can't face walking down a hall?_

And what was the big deal anyway? It was just a hallway, after all! The floor was polished parquet with a strip of carpet down the center, the walls were paneled, and a couple of occasional tables bore vases filled with flowers no doubt taken from the gardens she could see outside the open windows to her right. There was a light breeze outside, and it carried the scent of more flowers in through those windows. Baroness Carmenere inhaled, savoring the sweet aromas that shifted slightly with every change in the breeze, feeling her tension start to drain away.

Until something else came through the window.

~X X X~

Lillet Blan sipped her tea, feeling slightly guilty that the Baroness's bathroom break was proving to be the most enjoyable part of her visit. Court Society's routines weren't natural to the Mage Consul, and as an outsider only looking in because of a role she'd earned through her professional talents, she didn't feel that they had anything to do with her.

Besides, Royal Magician Emily Livingston, the Marchioness's daughter, was a good friend of Lillet's who'd helped her many times over to keep from embarrassing herself at a social function during Lillet's own Royal Magician years. And Amoretta had thought the seals were cute, which ended any concern over them being silly to have in a ballroom.

Lillet couldn't even afford herself the slight pleasure of acquainting her caller with these facts and watching her wrestle with the realization of "Oh, God, I've just insulted someone who can turn me into a frog!" Baroness Carmenere clearly hadn't approved of the overblown theatricality at the ball, but she hadn't been cutting or judgmental, either, so it would have been bullying instead of justice to be excessively disapproving.

She'd considered doing it anyway, just to cut the visit short, but Amoretta had a way of finding these things out.

So, Lillet was left to work on the puzzle of why so many people spent so much time on something as meaningless and boring as society gossip, and drink tea. She was just lifting the cup to her lips for another sip when a woman's scream echoed through the house. Lillet's head jerked, and she was lucky the cup had been only half-full or else she'd have added it to her dress and brown really wasn't her color.

She set the cup aside at once and rushed towards the door. Lillet was just opening it when a near-hysterical Baroness all but charged into her arms.

"It attacked me!" the woman screamed. "It jumped through the window and attacked me!"

"Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"N-no, I screamed and ran before it could do anything, but it nearly landed on me!"

"What was it?" Lillet asked. She was genuinely concerned; it shouldn't be possible for a hostile familiar to break through her wards without her knowing about it, and she didn't have any experiments running presently with her _own_ familiars that might be dangerous or run out of control. And Baroness Carmenere knew Shuck, who was the usual source of 'giant monster!' false alarms, so even if she'd been frightened by the barghest she'd have identified him as the culprit.

"I don't know! It was so sudden—I was walking down the hall, and it jumped through the open window at me!"

"What did it look like, then?"

"It was round and jet black, about this big." She held her hands about fifteen inches apart. "It was all covered in hair—I felt it brush my shoulder, so I just screamed and ran."

"What about Aila?"

"The maid? I don't know; she was right behind me—"

Lillet didn't listen any more, but stepped around the Baroness and out the door. There hadn't been any additional screaming, which was a good sign, but not necessarily proof that everything was okay. If there'd been a sudden attack...

"Aila!" Lillet called. "Aila, are you all right?" Had the maid been a summoned familiar she would have known at once, but most of the house elves were hired retainers like the human servants and so there was no magical bond to tell Lillet where they were or what was happening to them.

Then the elf girl walked around the corner.

"You can relax, ma'am; it's only a false alarm." She paused, then went on, "Most of the time I like dogs. We've got one of our own back home, and it's not a big deal that old Shuck is a little larger than most. But when he starts shedding his winter coat, well!" She held up the foot-wide hairball she was carrying. "Even when Miss Cressidor properly combs him outside it doesn't keep the fur from getting everywhere!"


	28. Just an Alchemy Experiment, Really

"Unnngh..."

This remarkably literate utterance was followed almost at once with a soft, almost worried squeak.

"It's okay, kid. She's coming around."

"Mmnnph..."?

Tahlea Grande blinked once. _Yes!_ she thought. _I remember my name. I am, indeed, Tahlea._ Something told her that possibly she should not be quite so exultant about that, but hey, minor victories. Particularly when the light streaming in whenever her eyelids twitched seemed to stab into her eyeballs like it was an angel's flaming sword. _Is my sister visiting? No, and I don't think I've done something to make her want to stab my eyes out..._

It may be inferred that Tahlea's thought processes were not exactly at their best.

"C'mon, Tahlea, enough with the groaning, already."

Actually, groaning sounded perfectly reasonable to Tahlea, but she forced her eyes to open, wincing as she did.

"Ow..."

"Welcome back to the living."

The homunculus's vision cleared enough for her to note the two-foot-tall fairy hovering in the air above her, wings fluttering. The fairy had a black mouse cradled in her arms.

"Hibi? What are you doing with Petey?"

Tahlea's pet mouse had been part of an alchemy experiment in heredity conducted by Mage Consul Lillet Blan. Tahlea had been visiting at the time and thought she (despite the name, Petey was indeed female) was cute.

"The furball's been worried about you. Or maybe just about herself, since you nearly landed on her when you fell over. And she's not the only one! I nearly lost a year off my life when you went down like that. Dr. Chartreuse ran some tests at once to make sure you were all right."

"I don't feel all right." Her head felt like a drum was playing inside it, her tongue was dry and swollen, her stomach felt like a horse had stepped on it, and someone seemed to have turned the sun up a few extra notches because things seemed painfully bright. "What happened to me?"

Hibiscus and Petey blinked simultaneously, making Tahlea giggle. That was a mistake.

"Ow..." She pressed her fingertips against her temple. "Don't act all cute and make me laugh."

"You don't remember anything?"

"No, nothing. Did I have some kind of accident in the alchemy lab?"

"Well, sort of. I think it counts as alchemy. Do you remember what yesterday was?"

"Um...Harvestide?" The mental fog was lifting a little, enough at least that Tahlea's heart did not swell with pride at remembering basic calendar information.

"Right. And do you remember the Magic Academy Harvest Party? Which is silly, because you people don't actually have farms here except for Professor Gammel's gardens and those are for experiments in Glamour magic more than fruits and flowers. But anyway, do you remember it?"

"No..." Then, a wisp of something, a memory's ghost, brushed across her mind. "Wait...I remember...singing?" Tahlea didn't have as perfect a voice as her sister Amoretta, but it was a good one and she liked the fun of singing with other people. It made her feel closer to them, something important for her artificial existence.

"Yeah, there was singing. And I was amazed to learn that that devil can carry a tune!" Petey was just an ordinary mouse, not a magically intelligent animal, but she gave a squeak as if agreeing right on cue. "But as a better question, do you remember the wassail-bowl?"

Tahlea blinked.

"Um...no?"

"Well, you may not, but your body does. After the first round of songs, we all dipped our cups and toasted the harvest. Then you drained yours and went over like you'd been hit over the head."

"It...it was an _experiment_," Tahlea said archly. "To...to test the effects of alcohol on a homunculus's biology."

"Yeah. You know how you once told me that your sister has a real thing about lying, Tahlea?"

"Yes..."

"You might want to try that, because you're really bad at it. Besides, you should already know that you're a real lightweight from when you were a fairy."

"Hibi, you know that I don't remember anything from my previous lifetime."

"So? What happened to all that scholarly analysis? I mean, you _do_ know that you agreed to let Dr. Chartreuse take your soul out of your body and use it as the core for a new homunculus, right? Does that sound like someone who can hold their liquor?"


	29. It's the Size of the Fight in the Dog?

Adults could be funny people sometimes, Molly Lauter thought. They went on and on, nagging you to remember to do stuff, and then they did things like forget to bring the apple pie Ma had made special for the big family Harvestide party.

Maybe that was why they were always nagging, because they were so forgetful themselves, they figured that everyone else was, too.

Anyway, that was why Molly had been sent scampering back to the Lauter farmhouse to fetch the pie ("And no tasting any of it, mind!") over to the Blans' place before it was time to eat.

She was just jogging up to the front door, when her dog stopped in his tracks next to her. It was kind of hard to tell because of his rumpled fur, but his hackles rose and he started barking. In the next moment he ran into the house, and Molly followed him through the open door.

The reason for the door being open was plain to see even as she stepped inside. Cabinets had been flung open, drawers yanked out, and generally disorder reigned, all at the hands of two scruffy-looking fellows. She was just in time to see the kneeling one jerk upright at Spot's arrival and bang his head on the underside of a drawer.

"Yow! Dagnabit, Dan, you said th' dog as went out with th' rest of 'em."

"'E did, Theo. Looks like 'e came back with the brat."

Dan grinned at Molly. It was not a nice grin.

"Now, see here, girlie. We need yer help, right enough, an' if yer gives it, ain't no reason for ya ter get hurt." 

"Help? You're _thieves_!"

Spot continued to bark, showing that he agreed with Molly's assessment.

"'Course we are. An' that's what I mean. Yer kin help us by showin' where yer folks keep their money an' anythin' else worth somethin', an' we kin help yer by not breakin' yer arms. Good fer ev'ryone!" His smile grew wider, revealing that his antisocial behavior included ignoring the rules of good dental hygiene.

"Aw, Dan, she's jest a kid," Theo revealed himself to be the less hardened criminal.

"A kid who'll know where we kin get our hands on th' money!"

He made a sudden grab for Molly and pushed her back against the wall.

"Now, iffin yer knows what's good for ya, tell us what—and willya shut that dog up? What in tarnation is it, anyway?"

Spot was in fact the product of the local baron riding out hunting with his spaniels while one of the local Shetland sheepdogs was in the mood for romance. He had rather a random mix of traits, right down to the way his left ear drooped over while the right was pushed up.

"Spot's a good dog!" Molly defended her pet.

"Yeah, well, 'e ain't so good at bein' a watchdog, is 'e? 'E don't shut up, Theo, you take care of him good, y'hear?"

"Aw, but Dan, what if 'e bites, an'—"

"Big deal. 'E's like thirty pounds. What kin 'e do?" He sneered at Molly. "Shoulda got yerself a real dog, kid. Now, fer th' last time—"

Dan never got to finish his sentence, because Molly (about whom the most commonly used adjective was "spunky") was not going to take insults to Spot lying down.

"He _is_ a real dog!"

"An' what kin 'e do ter protect ya now, hey?"

"He's real friendly with other dogs. He even gets along with Cousin Cress's pup." She pointed to the door.

Shuck the barghest growled. Since he outweighed Theo and Dan put together, it was not particularly shameful to their honor as thieves that they immediately tried to run for it. The fact that they ran head-on into each other and fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs was a little less respectable.

Shuck stepped into the room and laid down on top of them. He wagged happily, tail thumping on the floor. Spot yipped with excitement that his canine friend had come in response to his alarm.

"Good boy! Now, you stay right there while I do out to the barn and get some rope to tie them up, 'kay?"

Molly wasn't quite as good at knots as a sailor, but she'd had lots of practice around the farm, and she soon had both thieves trussed up as thoroughly as the average roast goose.

"That should hold you 'till I can get Ma to send the law for you. But first, I've got to get her this pie!"

She went to pick it up off the kitchen counter, then stopped, got out a knife, and cut a slice for each dog.

"Here you go, boys. You deserve it, for saving my neck. And I'm not even disobeying Ma, seeing as she only told me not to taste it myself, and _I_ ain't having any!"

~X X X~

_A/N: I'd like to thank my friend, Fuyu no Sora, for letting me borrow her OCs, thieves, sheep rustlers, and general ne'er-do-wells, Theo and Dan. Shuck's encountered them before, in one of Sora's stories, currently only posted at "Exiled to the Couch" at AnimeSuki. Thanks, Sora!_

_Also, yuiseppe did some awesome fanart of Shuck dealing with the thieves. Have a look over at her DeviantArt account!_


	30. Her Heart's in the Right Place

Miss Eliza Livingston thought of herself as a responsible, levelheaded person. The Tempranillo family governess had been looking after children for over twenty years, after all, and had successfully dealt with undisciplined children, absentee parents, relatives with wandering hands, and other annoyances of the profession with skill and aplomb. By any measure, her current post should have been an easy one. The Tempranillos were generous employers and caring parents, while their daughter Marcia was a sweet, outgoing, and bright child.

The only source of trouble was Marcia's choice of friends.

Cressidor Blan-Virgine, Miss Livingston was convinced, was destined to be a Bad Influence. Mind, the (presumably adopted, but who knew?) daughter of Mage Consul Lillet Blan and her lover, opera star Amoretta Virgine, was a pleasant child: intelligent, polite, respectful, slightly spoiled but grateful for what she had rather than whiningly entitled.

But her _dog_...

_What kind of parent gives her child a giant barghest as a _pet_!?_

That was the kind of thing that happened when one was the greatest magician since the Archmage, Miss Livingston thought. They could say all they wanted about "wards" and "proper training" and so on; it still gave her palpitations whenever Marcia and Cressidor would play fetch or tug-o'war or whatever with a fire-breathing, demonic hound that could bite a child's head clean off in one snap of its jaws!

The fact that the eight-year-olds clearly felt _sorry_ for her was just the icing on the cake.

"Miss Lizzy?"

There was a gentle tug on her dress.

"Miss Lizzy?"

She looked down.

"Yes, Marcia?"

"Cress and I have a surprise for you!"

"W-what is it?" She hated herself for stammering, and for the paleness she could feel coming into her cheeks. A governess should not be an object of pity for the eight-year-olds in her charge!

"It's okay, Miss Lizzy; Mother took Shuck out to the garden," Cressidor said. Her expression then brightened. "But that's related to the surprise!"

"Mm-hm!" Marcia agreed. "Come this way!"

"Oh, what is it?"

"We got you a present!" Marcia said.

"We felt bad because you're scared of dogs," Cressidor said. "It's not fair that you can't have a pet to love, too."

"So we had a great idea!"

"What's that?"

"It's right this way."

They took her down a hall and stopped at a door that led, if Miss Livingston correctly recalled the layout of the Blan-Virgine mansion, to a side parlor.

"Ms. Virgine's cat was a daddy, so I thought we could give you a kitten! And don't worry, I asked Papa _first_ and he said it was okay."

"We thought you'd probably want to pick your own," Cress said, "so you'd get the one who most appeals to you. That's important when you're adopting."

She opened the door.

Inside the room, which was indeed a parlor, were six jet-black kittens. Two were curled up together, fast asleep, in the pool of light from the strong afternoon sun streaming through the windows. The others were, as kittens are wont to do, romping around and playing. One was pouncing on a small gutta-percha rubber ball which was apparently hollow with a bell inside. Another stalked the shadow of a leaf that twitched when the breeze tossed its shrub outside the window. The other two were having some kind of cat duel in which they walked around on their hind legs, pointing toothpicks at each other which spat little sparks.

This last observation seemed to Miss Livingston almost as if it was being made by someone else. Her thoughts were foggy, like clouds were drifting through her mind—maybe that was why it was called "the vapors"? Her legs didn't seem to want to work properly, and she found herself pitching forward onto the soft carpet.

"Miss Lizzy!" she heard Marcia yelp from somewhere above.

"Did she get hit by a stray sleep spell?" Cressidor sounded concerned.

"I don't think so. I'm sorry, Cress; I guess she's just the sort of person who doesn't like _any_ animals."


	31. That's Why It's Called Dog-Tired

Dragon mating season was always an uncomfortable time in the Blan-Virgine household, and not for the obvious reason. Lillet Blan wasn't actually interested in having baby dragons running around; that sort of thing was properly done in the country where the hatchling had space to run, pounce, and learn to fly, all while being trained to accept human handlers. So the actual mechanics of conceiving, hatching, and raising a new generation of dragons was not the problem burdening the household.

Rather, it was the noise.

The mating calls of dragon queens announcing their availability were raucous and high-pitched. Thankfully, they weren't _too_ loud, at least inside the house with windows closed, and dragons were only fertile for one week every two years, so it wasn't awful.

At least not if one's hearing was in the normal human register.

Shuck the barghest, however, was a dog. A quarter-ton, flaming-tongued, giant black hellhound, yes, but nevertheless a dog. He liked to play fetch and dig holes and bark at things he thought needed reminding of his existence and get scratched behind the ears and have his belly rubbed and snuggle up at Cressidor Blan-Virgine's feet while he napped.

Napping being something that was very hard to do while a couple of lady dragons were telling the world that they needed a man.

He'd tried sticking his head under the furniture, which just made the headache worse when his shoulders upended the loveseat. He'd tried pulling his heavy, quilted bedding up over himself, but while that had muffled the sound a bit it had also left him feeling overheated and short of breath to be wrapped up like a mummy.

So at the last, with ears ringing, head pounding, and eyes that would have been red and bloodshot from lack of sleep had they not been glowing red anyway, Shuck gathered up his courage. It was something that no dog wanted to admit, but in a time of crisis, a barghest had to do what a barghest had to do.

He went to the library, where Amoretta Virgine's somewhat unimaginatively named grimalkin, Grimalkin, was curled up in one of the overstuffed reading chairs, sleeping.

Sleeping!

Now, Shuck was an intelligent dog, but understanding that grimalkins weren't actually cats—even magical cats—but instead devils of darkness that looked like cats (...and acted a lot like cats, at that) and therefore didn't necessarily have catlike biology was beyond him. All he saw was that Grimalkin had somehow found a way to avoid the bellowing scourge.

On the one hand, that was bitterly unfair.

On the other hand, it boded well for Shuck's mission.

He nudged Grimalkin with his nose.

The black cat slept on.

Shuck nudged him again.

Grimalkin continued to sleep. This called for sterner measures.

One bark later, Shuck looked up at the ceiling. Four clawed feet were sunk into the underside of the gallery, suspending a now quite wide awake cat from falling.

"'Tis very lucky that I am not the embodiment of wrath," Grimalkin hissed sharply.

Shuck looked up at him and whimpered plaintively. The cat measured him with a long glare, sighed, and dropped back onto the chair. Shuck was impressed by how he'd landed on his feet both going up and going down. But then, Grimalkin's skills were why he was there.

"What is it, Shuck?"

He whimpered and hung his head.

"You want something. 'Tis too bad you cannot talk."

Shuck laid down and put his paws over his eyes.

"Ah, I think that I understand. Well, 'tis not in my nature, as my ears are ringing as much as yours may be. Yet..." He lifted one paw and gestured in Shuck's direction. A puff of sparkling lights, like a tiny cloud of fireflies, shot out and struck the barghest, and the lids drooped shut over the blazing eyes.

"I suppose 'tis generous I am being," Grimalkin murmured as he settled himself back into the seat cushion to resume his nap, "but he ensured some consideration, methinks, by swallowing his canine pride so far as to allow him to ask for help from a cat."


	32. A Triple-Dog Dare

Marcia Tempranillo was surprised when she and her governess, Miss Eliza Livingston, were asked to wait in the foyer of the Blan-Virgine mansion instead of being shown directly in. Marcia was one of Cressidor Blan-Virgine's best friends and she'd visited there dozens of times over the years, and being asked to wait by the footman who'd admitted them like she was a mundane caller or even a tradesman stung a bit.

"Perhaps the footman is new, and didn't know your name yet?" Miss Livingston suggested.

"No, I remember him from last time." Marcia had found that most adults did have trouble telling elves apart. The nine-year-old had never had that problem, perhaps because she was the same height and so had a better view. Then again, a lot of adults also had trouble telling _human_ servants apart, so it could have been something different.

"Well, you'll just have to ask about it, then. It's not good to keep these worries inside, and if there is a problem you should find out right away."

"Thanks, Miss Lizzy. That's good advice."

Indeed it was, but there was no need for her to put it into effect. In about two minutes Cressidor came into the foyer with a downcast expression.

"I'm sorry we made you wait, Marcia, but I don't think this is a good day to visit here. Maybe we could go over to your house, or to the park?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Well, not _wrong_..." Cress glanced over at Miss Livingston. "It's just that I think it would be better for Miss Lizzy. You know how she is with dogs."

Miss Livingston, it will be noted, was not particularly scared of dogs. She did, however, have a problem with pony-sized, quarter-ton, burning-eyed, fire-breathing barghests, which was the kind of pet a little girl had when her mothers were the kingdom's Mage Consul and a homunculus. She had to admit that Shuck was a very well-behaved dog, considerably more so than the lapdogs of most Court Society ladies, but it was the scale of the potential problems that made her nervous. Nonetheless, she was a loyal governess and steeled her courage.

"I appreciate your concern for my feelings, Miss Cressidor," she said, "but I do not think it is fair to you or to Miss Marcia for you to be forced to give up your fun together for the sake of my nerves. I am getting quite used to Shuck."

"I know, but it's...well, it's not Shuck that's the problem. You see, Mama was asked by some of Grandpa and Grandma's friends to help them breed sheepdogs, and we have some of the puppies in the house while we're training them to..." She pursed her lips, trying to remember the word. "To be socialized!"

"You have _more_ giant magical dogs?" Miss Livingston could feel the cold sweat beginning to bead on her forehead.

Cress shook her head.

"No, no, they're not big like Shuck. They're all normal-sized dogs. But it's just, you don't really like dogs and I didn't want you to get scared."

Miss Livingston shook her head.

"I'm perfectly fine with normal dogs, really I am. I shan't faint if one should get loose and come running in."

That was when the barking started, as if to show that the world really was a place where actions have consequences. Miss Livingston could have made that into a teaching moment for Marcia, but was too busy being nervous to see the opportunity.

Still, she realized after a few seconds, that while there were several canine voices raised in excitement, they definitely did not have the deep, intimidating sound that came from Shuck's huge chest. This was definitely the barking of normal-sized animals, like Cressidor had said. She allowed herself to relax a little.

There came then the scrabble of paws and dog toenails on the tiled floor, and a canine body hurled around the corner and through the door from the front hall into the foyer. A tail wriggled, as if its owner was caught between thinking, "New friend! Wag!" and "Intruder! Be on guard!" Six eyes looked up at Miss Livingston, and she was greeted with two sharp barks and one friendly, lolling tongue.

"Oh, how cute!" Marcia exclaimed. She was very fond of animals.

"Mama thought they'd be good working dogs, because only two heads sleep at a time. That way they're always watching if a sheep slips away or a burglar gets into the house. And Cerberuses are much closer in size to sheepdogs than barghests, so she says that makes breeding easier."

"Can I pet her?"

"Sure!" Cress invited, scratching the dog's right head behind the ears. "She's really friendly. This one's name is Trippy. You know, for 'triple.' Mother really needs to get better at naming things," she added. Since Amoretta Virgine's grimalkin was, in fact, named Grimalkin, she had a point. Marcia held out a hand and three wet noses sniffed at it. She was just reaching out to pet the middle head when she heard a soft thump from behind her. Cress, Marcia, and Trippy all turned to see where Miss Livingston had crumpled to the foyer rug in a faint.

"She's going to hurt herself doing that one of these days," a worried Marcia said.

"Mother says that lots of people have trouble admitting when they're scared of things or a job's too big for them because of pride."

Trippy gave the unconscious governess a three-faced scowl. She was a protective dog, and didn't like people who made little girls sad.


	33. At a Sticking Point

Lillet Blan sighed and dropped her quill back onto the pen rest.

"I'm really starting to get sick of Alchemy," she groused.

"Why is that?" Amoretta Virgine asked. There was a note of disenchantment in her voice; after all, the homunculus _was_ Alchemy.

"Because of the mess it makes, if you ask me," Gaff groused, working the mop vigorously. Lillet had been using the workbench in her quarters for Alchemy experiments for two days, and that meant two days of spills, drips, and debris for the elf to clean up.

Lillet chuckled. Gaff did kind of have a point, and it was directly related to what she was doing.

"Well, actually, that's part of it."

"Why do you have to do all this stuff in here anyway? This place is chock-full of laboratories, from what I've seen," he went on.

"Well, yes, but those are for use by the Royal Magicians doing research projects."

"So?"

"Well, I'm not doing research. These are just basic experiments in the creation of blobs and the like. It would be selfish to take resources away from people doing real work just for this. And I don't need the advanced facilities of a laboratory anyway, not for something this simple."

"Why do you need laboratory facilities at all, then?" Amoretta asked. "Even I know the Rune for creating blobs, and I only have an apprentice's abilities."

To Lillet's mind, the fact that her lover could use Alchemy at all was amazing; for a homunculus to be able to command human magic was not "only" anything. But the girl's point was valid.

"It's for my placement tests for Master Freixenet, so that he knows how to classify my abilities." They'd been going on for more than a week, now, trying to measure the depth of her knowledge in different fields. "It's not enough for an Alchemy master to just be able to cast Runes, even advanced ones; they need to demonstrate that they understand the underlying principles of magic behind them that the Runes simplify. So I not only have to do the experiments from scratch, but fill out reports on them." She held up a sheaf of papers covered in her somewhat slapdash handwriting.

"You should work on your penmanship," Gaff advised.

"I learned to read and write in the village school, and we didn't spend as much time on drilling us to make every stroke perfect as we might otherwise. We all had farm chores to get back to, and it was more important to get the basic knowledge across and move on to other subjects than to make sure that we had perfect, pretty calligraphy. As long as it was legible, that was good enough."

Amoretta squinted at the last couple of pages.

"I'm not entirely sure that these qualify?"

Lillet sighed again and dropped the reports back on the table.

"Yeah, I got a little careless at the end, I was going so fast. I just want to get this over and done with so I can actually start practicing magic. I want to _do_ something with my skills, and I feel like I'm just taking all the apprentice exams from the Magical Society and the Tower all over again! Some of this work I could do in my sleep."

"...That explains the floor," Gaff muttered as he dunked the mop into the bucket of soapy water, then set it to a particularly stubborn blue stain. He had to put some elbow grease into it, pushing down hard with the mop and using more force than usual. Possibly he should have used less force and more care, however, because the backswing caused the mop handle to smash through a glass flask full of viscous green material. Said material oozed out of the broken flask and out onto the workbench.

Then, since it was actually an animated blob, it began to ooze its way across the workbench towards the cauldron where it had been created. It crawled up the side and settled peaceably down into the pot.

"A self-cleaning mess. I like that," Gaff decided.

"Not exactly," Amoretta said, running her fingertip over the workbench. The blob itself hadn't stayed around, but it had left behind a gooey trail of greenish slime.

"Hey, I don't suppose that the 'magician cleans up her own workspace' rule covers this?" he asked hopefully.

"That doesn't seem fair. And Lillet is going to have enough trouble dealing with her experiment report," Amoretta pointed out, picking up the sheaf of papers, across which the blob had crawled, leaving them thoroughly smeared with sticky goo.

"If you ask me, this is a win. I mean, if she hands it in like that, nobody's going to be criticizing her penmanship."

~X X X~

_A/N: This story was originally done for deathcurse's first-year-at-the-Royal-House-of-Magic challenge at Exiled to the Couch; the prompt I received was "sticky."_


	34. Sturm und Drang

It was one of those storms that seemed like a living thing. It wasn't enough that the wind blew furiously, the rain poured, and the blasts of lightning lit up the night, bearing all the force of a mighty, impersonal Nature. Rather, the storm seemed imbued with a will of its own, an elemental rage so that the howls of the wind were screams of fury, the rain lashed at the city like cresting waves seeking to tear it down, and the thunder that rattled the windows in their casements seemed like a besieger trying to force entry.

It was, in short, the kind of night which drove the imaginative or fearful to huddle close to their loved ones for reassurance, to feel the touch of human warmth. Even Mage Consul Lillet Blan, whose magic was capable of commanding entities actually able of being in reality what the storm only seemed in metaphor, felt the impact of the weather. Her homunculus lover, Amoretta Virgine, didn't have the kind of imagination that imputed human feelings to the weather, but she also never needed a reason to cling closely to Lillet. Her slender form was half-draped over Lillet's as they lay on the library sofa, taking turns reading chapters to one another of a sensation novel being serialized in the _Flying Mercury_.

The idyllic atmosphere of the moment was broken by a particularly brilliant flash of lightning that lit up the windows like they were ablaze, followed almost immediately by a deafeningly loud crash of thunder that suggested the bolt had struck close nearby, perhaps even on the grounds of the estate. The moment of awed surprise they created, though, was shattered in turn by a high-pitched scream of fright in a little girl's voice followed by a loud crashing sound.

Both women were off the couch in an instant and sprinting through the mansion with a speed and agility that owed to being two mothers responding to a cry from their child. They reached the door of their daughter's bedroom just ahead of several servants (three human, two elven) who had responded to the same noises as Lillet and Amoretta. They made a little cluster behind the parents as Lillet threw open the door.

"Cress, honey, are you all right?" she cried, seeing the disarray in the room.

The little girl's bed had been flipped over onto its side, which had spilled her out onto the rug in the tangle of bedclothes.

"Yes, Mama. I just got really surprised when the bed fell over," Cressidor hastened to assure her. The thick carpet and the plush blankets and quilt were more than enough padding to prevent injury, so that none of the protective wards Lillet had placed on her had even been triggered.

"But what caused the bed to fall?" Amoretta asked.

"Oh, that was Shuck."

At the sound of his name, the quarter-ton barghest nervously peeked his head around the footboard. His ears were pressed back against his head and he was trembling.

"He got really scared by that last big lightning bolt and tried to hide under the bed, only there wasn't enough space." Cressidor tipped her head to the side curiously. "Is it okay if I get the quilts and blankets and sleep on the floor with him, Mother? I think it'll help him be less frightened."

"I think that would be all right. That's very good of you to try to comfort Shuck."

"Of course!" she said, then added earnestly, "And helping to keep the furniture safe is part of my responsibility as the owner of a large-breed dog!"


	35. A Matter of Illumination

**Omake Week 2014, Day 3:** _This story was originally written for "Exiled to the Couch's" ongoing fanfiction challenge thread about Lillet's first year at the Royal House of Magic; the prompt was "lantern." Marne, the OC apprentice appearing here, was first introduced to my stories in the fourth chapter of "A Homunculus is Fine, Too."_

~X X X~

Marne Labatt yawned as she walked down the hall in the laboratory wing of the Royal House of Magic. The round-faced brunette wanted nothing more than to get back to her room in the apprentice's dormitory, crawl under the covers, and sleep right through breakfast. She was already going over in her mind what Master Tanqueray would need from her the next day and how late she'd actually be able to sleep, when she was distracted by a flickering light coming from behind an open door.

Curious, she went up and peeked around the edge of the door, and saw a blonde girl about her age standing at a worktable, her wand-hand curled under her chin as she regarded the pattern of glowing green lines, arcs, and symbols set out there. The blonde wasn't anyone that she knew, which surprised Marne, but it also explained the door being open.

"Excuse me," she said softly.

The blonde jumped in surprise, obviously having been lost in concentration.

"Ah!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, that's all right. I tend to get lost in thought really easily when I'm working on something. Did you need anything?"

"No, I was just coming down the hall when I saw your lantern." She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The air smelled faintly of lavender, making her wonder if the blonde girl used perfume. "I looked in and saw you were new here. Oh, I'm Marne Labatt, and I'm in Sorcery, though I'm thinking of switching to Glamour."

The blonde brightened at that.

"I have a friend who has that combination of fields. She doesn't really like Sorcery, though, so she'd probably think you should switch."

"You'd probably say Glamour is better too, huh?" Marne asked with a smile, pointing to the half-formed Rune on the table and its telltale green shade.

"It was the first kind of magic that I learned. Oh, I'm Lillet Blan." She extended a hand to Marne, who shook it. Lillet seemed nice; maybe she'd be a new friend.

"Are you in Glamour, too, then?"

Lillet shook her head.

"No, I'm actually kind of a generalist, so Master Freixenet hasn't assigned me to anything specific."

"Wow, that's got to be rough. Getting dragged back and forth on all kinds of different projects, never even sure what the next one's going to be about. No wonder you're up late working! What are you doing, by the way? If it's not something private," she hastened to add. Some of the Royal Magicians could be pretty secretive about their projects until they were done, the better to make sure that they got full credit for them, and Marne didn't want to get Lillet in trouble by pressuring her to spill the beans.

"Oh, no, it's fine. I'm trying to work out how to change the structure of a fire-warding Rune to make it work on heat rather than actual open flame. I'm having trouble, though, because so much of the underlying symbolism is based on the classical fire element, and the need to adjust for the absence of flame makes the pattern fall apart. It's like I'm trying to ask the magic to ward something that's there and not there at the same time, and that _really_ doesn't work well." She started to outline the specific technical problem from there and completely lost Marne within two sentences. "And then there's the intensity problem, too. Most fire wards are designed to stop damaging flame that would burn or ignite whatever was warded, and that's too high a threshold."

"Why?" Marne asked, focusing on the point that she could at least follow.

"I want to put it on a window, to keep the sun from heating up a room too much in summer. And then in winter I could put it on the outside instead, to keep heat in."

"Wow, that would actually be pretty useful. I wish I could help, but that's way beyond anything I've ever studied. Oh! But I know who might know something. My Glamour teacher, Master Tanqueray, is one of the two ward experts among the Royal Magicians. Since you said it wasn't private, then whomever assigned this to you probably wouldn't mind you asking. Unless it _was_ him?"

Lillet shook her head.

"No, this is my own personal project, not something that I was assigned to work on."

"Oh, geez, then I'm really glad I poked my head in. You're new here, so you probably weren't told everything you'll need to know right off, but we apprentices aren't supposed to be using these workrooms by ourselves after hours. I mean, everybody does it, you virtually have to to keep up with all the work, but if they catch you working on a _personal _project after hours—wow! Just believe me when I say you'd almost rather just give up and go home! Make sure that you keep the laboratory door closed; your lantern-light's really obvious otherwise."

She couldn't help but notice that the lavender scent was starting to become cloying in the small workroom. Marne held her tongue, though, since she'd just met Lillet and didn't want to come off as sounding offensive or judgmental.

"You're right, no one did tell me that. I guess it's a good rule, though. An apprentice could get badly hurt working on something outside their abilities without supervision."

"Maybe," Marne allowed dubiously, "and if you're doing work for one of the Royal Magicians, they'll usually cut you some slack on the grounds that whomever assigned it knew what they were doing. But there's never any time during the day for personal research; the full magicians will end up taking all the laboratory space."

"Any time that you have more magicians than workspaces, you don't have enough workspaces," Lillet said, laughing.

"I knew you'd get it. After all, you're here now, not tucked up in bed."

Lillet groaned.

"I _know_. First Master Riesling needed me to work with him on a way to compel wraiths to do anything other than attack the living. I had to write up a report on the latest modifications to the Chimera Spawn rune, and _then_ I had to help defuse that mess that they got to over in the Sorcery section—do you realize how easy it is to accidentally overcharge a Hell Gate when you confuse the standard version with the Lusatian variant? I swear, Mistress Artois was ready to _hang _her apprentices."

Marne giggled at the last one.

"I know! Sandor told me I was really lucky not to have been there. He said Mistress Artois nearly blasted Nikolaschka all the way back to Chernyakov! If it hadn't been for the new magician we'd have been scouring the whole _palace_ for imps!"

It took her about five seconds to make the connection between her last sentence, what Lillet had said, and the fact that every magical work the blonde had mentioned was completely over Marne's head.

"…You're not an apprentice, are you?"

Lillet shook her head.

"Um…no? Is that a problem?"

"Well, not other than me making a bit of a fool of myself. I ought to know better than to assume someone's a teenager based on their appearance alone, here in the heart of Her Majesty's best magicians." Marne was now really glad she hadn't mentioned the scent.

"No, no, I really am sixteen."

Marne's jaw dropped.

"And you're a Royal Magician? You must be some kind of genius!"

Lillet didn't look happy at that.

"That's not exactly true. It's…kind of a long story. Longer than I actually know."

That was certainly enigmatic, but in Marne's experience that was pretty much par for the course with master magicians.

"Well, all right. It was nice meeting you, Mistress Blan."

"Thanks! You, too. I should introduce you to Amoretta; she's going to be working as an apprentice here and it would be good if she could make a few friends."

"That would be nice." Marne wondered who "Amoretta" was, but figured that would answer itself. "Um…I guess I had better get going. I need to get back to bed, and I only stopped in because I saw the light."

"Okay. And I appreciate your suggestion about Master Tanqueray. I don't really know everyone yet, so the advice is handy."

"You're welcome."

"Oh, and could you leave the door open when you go?" She waved her hand under her nose. "I'm working with an herb-infused oil in the lantern that's specially attuned to the ward's magic, but it gets a little heavy if there's not enough ventilation in the room."

~X X X~

_A/N: Marne was first introduced in Chapter 4 of "A Homunculus is Fine, Too!"_


	36. Wag the Black Dog's Tale

_A/N: A couple of shorts combined, since they're both on the same theme and neither one is really long enough to make its own chapter._

~ I ~

Twilight came early to the village of Waybridge at that season, the bitter, crisp air starting to yield to lonely darkness over the moor. It was a forlorn place, where the skeletons of solitary trees clawed against the darkening skies, and grim tors reared up like the fingers of some long-dead colossus. It was a season where farmers and shopkeepers were all too happy to finish their work and cluster in the taproom of the Black Dog Inn for a mug or three of strong ale or hot, mulled cider to keep out the chill.

The gathered drinkers to a man jolted in their seats as the door was flung open to crash loudly against the wall. Looking up in shock, they saw the wide-eyed, staring face of Vinson Labatt, one of the local carters who made his coin hauling local goods to the markets in the nearest town. Labatt's eyes were wide and staring, and the black stubble on his cheeks just made the pasty whiteness of his skin stand out all the more.

"I seen it!" he gasped, staggering forward. His sides heaved as he sucked in air, making it plain that he had run some distance. "Out on the moor!"

"Seen what, Vin? What's got you in such a state?" asked the innkeeper. He filled a mug with ale and set in on the bar; Labatt collapsed onto the stool in front of it.

"The Black Dog!" Labatt seized the tankard in shaking hands, lifted it to his lips, and downed half of its contents in one gulp. His trembling eased, and he wiped the back of his sleeve across his lips. "Big as a horse it was, with blazing eyes and breath like fire! It stared right at me and barked twice. It's an omen, I tell you!"

Labatt's story had a somewhat curious effect on his host. The innkeeper straightened up, his casual air vanishing to be replaced with a resolute sense of purpose. He strode to the kitchen door, thrust it open, and called, "Margery! Put another roast on, and use the best, mind. Also a pot of tea, and when Peg gets back in with the water have her go make up two rooms."

He was grinning when he turned back to Labatt.

"Your black dog's an omen all right, Vin. It's an omen that the Mage Consul's on her way to visit her family, with her lady and their daughter and their servant besides." He rubbed his hands together. "The gentry's good custom if you treat 'em right, 'specially at this time of year."

"But the Dog—" Labatt began, only to be cut off with a laugh.

"You dunderhead, that's just the little girl's pup! Probably wanted you to throw him a stick. Poor boy; dogs get devilish hurt feelings when people don't like 'em."

~ II ~

It was a dark and dreary autumn night, the kind of night when one wants to huddle close to the fire not for the heat, but because the soul craved for light to drive out the darkness. The traveling merchant felt it, spending much of his time staring into the flames whenever the act of eating did not specifically require him to look down at his food.

Even so, he thought he would have jerked in his seat at the sudden howling were it a bright summer's day, so dreadful was the sound.

It came from outside the inn, but it sounded close by, a deep-throated voice that was a paean to loneliness and loss. The merchant shuddered as the sound seemed to claw at his spirit, a plague of despairing sorrow that mocked all hope, all joy of life.

"Good Lord, what was that?" he gasped.

"Ah, that be the howl o' the Black Dog, the barghest," said an old gaffer at the bar. "They do say that when its howl rings out across the moor, that it be an omen o' death. Take me word for it, the Auld Man do be whetting his scythe."

Even as he finished, the howl began once again, and the traveler cringed. The noise was cut off, though, by a window banging open upstairs and a little girl's voice calling out.

"Shuck, be quiet! Mama said you have to sleep outside unless it rains because the inn isn't fireproof, so stop carrying on like that. You'll disturb people's sleep!"

An almost apologetic "mrowf" answered the girl.

"Good boy. I'll see if I can get a piece of bacon for you in the morning."

The old gaffer gave the merchant a gap-toothed grin.

"Well, I be right about the barghest part, anyways."


	37. Color

"Why do you want to become a magician, Miss Blan?"

Lillet Blan looked at Master Freixenet in surprise. Of all the things she'd expected to be asked in this, her initial interview with the head of the Royal House of Magic, personal philosophical questions weren't among them. Maybe they should have been. After all, it had been Professor Gammel who had arranged for her to become a Royal Magician. Master Freixenet knew the student from her records, the history of the Philosopher's Stone incident from the Crown report, but had never so much as exchanged a letter with Lillet directly.

Searching questions were part and parcel of the whole affair.

"Well," Lillet began, shifting in her seat. The chair was pleasant enough, with a curved wooden back and a velvet seat-cushion, but Lillet still felt uncomfortable under the old magician's gaze. "My family has a farm in the district south of the capital, and I have two younger brothers. Neither one of them has magical potential, so we wanted to be able to send them to school. That way, they can train for a better-paying career, even earn their way to university. That takes money, though, money that a yeoman farmer doesn't have, but since I _do_ have magical ability, that means that I have a lot of opportunities to use that talent to find work that pays enough to give them that first start."

Master Freixenet shook his head slowly. He reminded Lillet a lot of Professor Gammel, filling the classic image of a wizard as an old man with a long, flowing, white beard, but he took things in a different direction. Where Gammel was tall, imposing, and wore rich robes that made him look more like a powerful Court minister of a couple of hundred years ago, Freixenet was rail-thin, almost withered, skin bronzed like old wood stretched tightly over his bones. His robes bore cabalistic signs and were festooned with charms, the beard beneath his hooked nose fell past waist-length but was scraggly rather than rich and flowing, and he wore a floppy steeple hat with a wife brim that cast his face in shadow, only emphasizing the burning intensity of his eyes.

Where Professor Gammel presented himself as the magician as the holder of knowledge, Master Freixenet was the keeper of secrets.

By contrast, or simply because of his position as a Palace administrator, Master Freixenet's office could have belonged to any minister, nobleman, or wealthy man of office. There was a laden bookcase, but none of the spines screamed out as being grimoires full of eldritch lore; there was a tapestry depicting a battle with knights and archers on the east wall; and the room was dominated by a huge showpiece of a desk more suitable for the Chamberlain or the Exchequer's office. A row of little ornaments ran along the edge: a pen set more for appearance than use, a brass-cased clock, a polished marble paperweight, and a sculpture that looked like a miniature fountain, with a flat-bottomed bowl of water capped by a leaping fish, the whole thing done in a dull gray stone like granite.

"You mistake my point, I think," the old magician said, slowly stroking his beard. "That is a reason for you to accept this job. It is not a reason why you would seek to become a magician in the first place."

Lillet blinked.

"It isn't? But that's what I was hoping for when I went to the Magic Academy. If I've been lucky enough to be born with a skill, shouldn't I use it to help myself and my family? It would be pretty irresponsible otherwise."

The old man sighed, and shook his head again.

"That is all well and good, indeed a responsible attitude for a young woman at the Magical Society deciding whether to accept further training or an apprenticeship. But!" He held up one finger, long and spindly with knuckles made prominent by the tight-stretched skin so it resembled a chitinous spider's leg. "I doubt that was your prime concern when you were a little girl, and you first discovered that you had the potential for magic. Many people are afraid of such potential. Even those who do not believe it is somehow 'evil' often do no more than to learn control over their senses and stop with that. But you did not. You chose to explore your gifts, and I am curious as to why. What led you to embrace magic rather than fear it?"

"Oh, I see what you mean." Lillet tapped her fingertip against the corner of her mouth, thinking. It was hard to put it exactly into words. "I…" she began, then broke off, dissatisfied. "It's hard to properly phrase…"

"Take as much time as you need, Miss Blan. For an important question, it's much better to get the answers correct."

She did wait for a bit, thinking it over, and after a couple of minutes she managed to come up with an answer.

"Color."

Even with the shadow cast by his hat-brim, Lillet could see the old magician's bushy eyebrows rise.

"I'm intrigued. What do you mean by that?"

"Well…it works better if I show you."

"All right. Go ahead."

Lillet nodded, then sketched a design in mid-air with her fingertip. It was a magical Rune, and lines of brilliant green light followed the passes of her hand as she did. She was actually showing off a little by doing it without her wand and vertically, but…well, that was part of the point. For a moment it shone with a brilliant surge, and as the Rune's emerald radiance washed across Master Freixenet's desk it wrought a change. The stone fish's outline seemed to _ripple_, and as it did it became more defined, its scales more distinct, spines in its fins standing out. Gills flared to reveal red within, and the dull hue of the rock deepened to silver, then shimmered with varied shades, and a miniature rainbow trout wriggled off its perch to splash into water, where it swam vigorously in circles.

Smiling, Lillet sat back in her chair.

"Once I learned that there were things in the world beyond what I knew in my own life as I'd lived it that far, I knew that I wouldn't be happy unless I tried to go see them for myself. For some people it's art, for others travel, and yet others can find it within the pages of a book. For me, it's magic, and I wasn't going to turn away from all the wonderful and exciting things that it could help me to discover."

Master Freixenet chuckled then, smiling broadly.

"I look forward to seeing what new shades you find here in the Royal House of Magic."

~X X X~

_A/N: This story was done for the "First Year, Royal House of Magic" challenge at Exiled to the Couch; the prompt was "Gray" (or rather, "Grey," because the prompter is Canadian). I think I've mentioned this before, but Master Freixenet's appearance is based directly upon the sorcerer model from one of Vanillaware's other games, _Odin Sphere_._


End file.
